


In The Deep Dark

by peculiarmars



Series: Monster [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Forced Crossdressing, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Recovery, Torture, Whipping, explicit - Freeform, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 34,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarmars/pseuds/peculiarmars
Summary: He can't remember a time before his failure. He can't even remember what he failed at, all he knows is that this is his punishment. And his Monster's will make sure he suffers.Until suddenly, they stop.Sequel to Make Me a Monster





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This fic is not for the faint of heart. Seriously, heed the tags. This fic deals with extremely traumatizing situations, aka non-con and torture, and is very, very explicit. 
> 
> I tagged this as aftermath of torture and rape, and it will be. However a lot of this fic will be the actual torture and rape. Also, the timeline of this fic may seem odd or wrong at first, and that is deliberate. The fic is mostly from Draco's point of view, so will be hazy in some places.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> For those who wanted a sequel to Make Me A Monster.
> 
> [Original note in chapter 24]  
> [Someone pointed out to me that parts of this fic are very similar to another fic, and I agree, it does looked like I have copied them, and the structure of the other fic is very similar to this, so it looks like I've just stolen someone's work and changed the fandom. I didn't know that the fic existed, so any plagiarism is an accident. I apologise for accidental plagiarism, and thank you to the person that told me. The other fic is Stolen by fireofangels. http://archiveofourown.org/works/378594/]

There was a time when he thought he knew terror. When he was branded with the snake-like monsters mark. When he was given the task. When he was told to kill. And after, when he failed. That was a long, long time ago. It feels like years. Centuries.

 

He would laugh at his niave past self, but he is too terrified to make a sound. The snake-like monster holds a knife to his genitals, pressing the cold steel just hard enough to draw blood. Draco whimpers instinctively.

 

"Please..." He chokes out. Red eyes stare at him. He feels a tug in his mind and knows the snake is prying into his thoughts, viewing his memories like a slideshow. His fears are at the front of his mind, and he fights down the urge to even think about Occluding.

 

"Thinking of fighting, were you?" The snake suddenly hisses in his ear, the warm breath making him shudder with fright.

 

"N-no..."

 

It is no use. The monster already saw. He should have learnt by now, if the monster wants him to do something, he would do it without question. The monster never wanted him to think of disobeying, and he has. He knows he will be punished for this. He starts to tremble in anticipation.

 

"Oh, little toy, I enjoy you. Every. Single. Time." The snake licks a stripe down his face, and he presses his lips together, forcing his noise to stay inside. He must not make a sound during his punishment. Not now, and not ever. Unless they allow him to. And they haven't.

 

He feels the drag of cold steels over his cheek, cutting a line through the monster's saliva. The monster drags the knife deep enough to make him wince but light enough not to cut his flesh. He clenches his eyes tight shut as the knife finds its original place over his genitals.

 

"Don't close your eyes on me!"

 

Draco's eyes snap open, meeting the monster's eyes for half a second before flickering to the dark behind him. The knife moves from his genitals.

 

He doesn't quite manage to push down the anguished scream as the blade is stabbed into his arsehole.

 

**

 

Fuck. The Malfoy boy should of always been what he is now. A plaything for the Dark Lord and those he favours. Which, as it is, includes Greyback.

 

He fits his hands in the Malfoy boy's hair as he suckles at his cock. Seeing the Malfoy boy like this almost makes him come on his own. He has been broken down this far and it is such a _thrill_. Seeing the boy reduced from the spoilt brat on the Astronomy Tower to this, the perfect toy.

 

He drives his cock deeper into the boys throat, feeling an ounce of glee when he hears the boy choke from beneath him. It pushes him over the edge, making him come into the boys pretty mouth. He keeps the boy pressed against his crotch until he feels him swallow, and sees the boy turning red from lack of air. Even so, the boy makes no move to free himself. Not that he could, anyway. But still.

 

As nice as the boy is to play with, Greyback often has to refrain from killing him outright.

 

**

 

He waits. He is always waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. For a monster to come into his prison. Waiting to see.

 

What will they do to him this time? What will they _take_ from him?

 

He shudders when he hears a booted stomp outside.

 

Oh. No. Please. Help.

 

**

 

Harry's eyes fly open, breathing harshly at the climax of his nightmare. He had thought it was a vision at first, but it can't be. He can't even remember his nightmare, not really. He just remembers feeling fear, and a scream. And the dark, it was so dark.

 

"Harry?" Ron stirs in the bed next to him. "Are you alright, mate?"

 

Harry rubs his forehead. "I'm fine, Ron."

 

As he drifts off, he thinks of Dumbledore.

 

He falls asleep thinking of Malfoy's terrified face, surrounded by darkness, and can't quite remember why.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He drifts.

 

His thoughts pass through his mind like smoke. He can catch glimpses of them, but whenever he tries to focus they slip through his fingers. He thinks of a time before the never-ending dark. His mind slides through brief glimpses of a pretty blonde woman, dressed in the finest of silks. He thinks of broomsticks, of snakes and transparent girls in bathrooms. He thinks of curses and being ripped apart.

 

**

 

He

 

wakes

 

to

 

red

 

eyes

 

above

 

**

 

The boy is curled up at his feet, sobbing uncontrollably. He would beg, but he can't make his mouth work properly. All he can manage is the occasional whimper.

 

He reaches out a cold hand and the boy flinches, but does not move. His cold hands brush over the boy's pale skin. The boy only manages a tiny gulp as his hands trail down between his legs. He is getting better at this.

 

**

 

There is something so gratifying about Lucius Malfoy's son groveling at his feet. Old Malfoy senior used to sneer at him, treat him like dirt. But his son has only ever looked at him in terror. Even before the boy's punishment, the boy was terrified of him. And rightly so.

 

**

 

He finds the boy scratching at the door, desparately trying to pull it open. Fenrir can hear his heart hammering in his chest from an entire floor away. It's one of the benefits of being a wolf. He watches for a few moments, knowing what the boy is trying is pointless. If the boy did manage to get the door open then the wards would tear him apart. He doesn't intervene, not yet, because the boy looks so utterly pathetic that Fenrir finds it humorous.

 

He can feeling the panic rolling off of the boy in waves, and it increases tenfold when the boy suddenly stops. He slowly turns and sees Fenrir leering at him across the room. A cry tears through his throat as he tugs at the handle, willing it to open before Fenrir reaches him.

 

But his struggle is futile and they both know it. Fenrir crosses the room in four strides and the boy lets out a hoarse sob. He barely struggles as he is dragged back to his room by his hair, knowing that stuggling would make his punishment worse.

 

**

 

After, he wonders what could have been worse.

 

**

 

"Beg me,"

 

"Please,"

 

Please. Tell me. What am I begging for? Please, tell me, tell me, tell me. What do you want?

 

Please?

 

**

 

Draco stiffens as his Lordship approaches him. He keeps his mind clear, curling his hands into fists to make the trembling less noticeable.

 

"You failed."

 

_Please, please, please._

 

"I have just the right punishment for you."

 

**

 

He wants to wrap his arms around himself, wants to shield himself from the hungry, hungry looks. But he knows what happens if he shows disobediance. He keeps his words locked inside him as the burning hands part his legs. He only makes a tiny whimper as he is filled up.

 

**

 

Sex between men would be painful more than twice a day, and it is much worse when there is no preparation and the men are trying to tear him apart.

 

**

 

The boy shudders under him as Greyback reaches completion. Fenrir grips the boy's long hair, pulling a chunk of it from his scalp. Merlin, he wants to kill him so bad.

 

Fenrir wants to tear through the smooth flesh of the boy's stomach, wants to eat him from the inside to the outside. He wants to tear his nails across the boys face until his flesh is left in ruined tatters.

 

But he has his orders not to kill the boy. He can leave the boy on the brink of death, but is not permitted to push him over the edge.

 

So for now, he just settles for making the boy scream.

 

**

 

Draco used to think that he would survive the war unscathed. He used to believe that he would be the same as he was before, when it was over.

 

But he was never good with pain, and some things break the most resiliant of wizards.

 

**

 

He has never been more terrified. He knew he would be punished for his failure on the Astronomy Tower, he just didn't think it would be like this. He thought he would be Crucio'd till he was mad as Longbottom's parents. That was what he feared.

 

But now, between Fenrir Greyback and the Dark Lord, he realises that was an outcome to be desired, not feared.

 

**

 

Harry presses a hand to his forehead, taking deep breaths.

 

Jesus. Jesus fucking christ.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't send the boy back to the room. Not yet. Malfoy's brat must be punished. And Fenrir has just the right idea of how.

 

He pushes the boy on his back in front of the fireplace, savouring the sickly sweet terror on the boy's face. He orders the boy lift his left foot into the air as he grabs a poker. He complies. Fenrir leaves the poker in the fire until the tip of it turns an angry red, and then he grabs the boy's ankle. He can see the boy knows what is coming, sees the way his breath hitches as Fenrir hovers the poker over the tender flesh of the boy's foot. His hands curl into fists. His lips are already bleeding from biting them so hard.

 

Fenrir almost comes at the look on the boy's pretty face as he smells his own burning flesh.

 

**

 

He cannot. Ever. He won't. He promises. He will never ever run. He'll do anything they want. Anything. Salazar, please. Please. Don't hurt me. Please.

 

**

 

He likes to play mind games with his toy. He likes to watch the boy's face fall as he fails whatever task he has been set. He likes to watch the boy cringe and shriek under his wand.

 

In one hand he has two slices of bread, both with blue mould growing in patches over them. He makes the boy promise not to scream, and then promises the boy that if he keeps quiet he can have them.

 

Behind his back, his other hand he holds a a leather whip. He watches the boy war with himself as he struggles not to simply beg. Begging is not allowed unless it is asked for.

 

He tells the boy the turn around, to place his hands on the wall above him. He hisses a spell that immobilises him.

 

He doesn't bring the whip down on the boy's back at first. Instead he waits, listening as the boy's breathing gets more and more ragged. He lightly trails the whip over the boy's skinny back, trailing it down the prominent bones of the boy's spine, down the curve of the boy's buttocks.

 

Draco is almost relieved when he recieves the first lash.

 

**

He breaks his promise on the fourteenth lash, when he lets out a tiny scream. He screams even more when he is put under the cruciatus curse moments later.

**

 

The thing about his Lordship, is that he doesn't stop merely at pain of the flesh. His Lordship wants the boy completely wrecked, and chose him to do it. His Lordship has time with the boy too, but until today Fenrir has never witnessed it. He only knows because the boy sports bruises and cuts that he cannot recall giving him.

 

He and his Lordship have different methods of breaking someone, but both know humiliation plays a part in it. A big part.

 

The Malfoy brat is kneeling at his feet, mouthing at his dick. But that's not what has him so hard.

 

The brat is wearing a dress. Whilst Fenrir has no idea where his Lordship got it from, he is very grateful. The dress is clearly a size too small, and clings to the boy's chest. Fenrir expects that it was deliberate. The skirt flares outwards above his waist, barely covering his crotch. Fenrir has the perfect view of the welts across the backs of his thighs, and the burn scars on his feet. The boy's cheeks are as pink as the silky fabric.

 

Fenrir sips his glass of wine as his Lordship tells him about a mission he is to be sent off soon. Something about Yaxley and the Snatchers. He knows there out looking for Potter, and it won't be long until he and his mudblood traitor friends are caught.

 

He silently groans as he comes into the boy's mouth, making sure the boy swallows everything. He lets the boy lean against his leg, dragging his sharp nails through his shoulder length hair.

 

"You can share him with the rest of your pack, if you refrain from turning or killing him." The Dark Lord says, before disappearing with a pop.

 

The Malfoy brat doesn't protest when Fenrir pushes the dress up his thighs, leaving it bunched around his waist. He only looks at him with watery eyes as Fenrir pushes in in one thrust.

 

**

 

Some days he cannot distinguish between the two. Some days all he knows is that he is hurting, not even able to pinpoint where. He likes these days the best. It lets him pretend that this is just one long nightmare that he hasn't been able to wake up from yet.

 

**

 

He is kneeling in front of a mirror. He stares at his reflection and doesn't recognise the grey eyes that stare back at him. He is unrecognisable to the person he used to be, even though he often has trouble remembering what that was. He is wearing a purple dress, with puffy sleeves and a skirt that flares outwards. It is humiliating, but he prefers it over nothing. However thin, it means there is something between his skin and the unforgiving hands.

 

A cold hand touches his neck, creeping down under the collar of the dress. He flushes, biting his lip.

 

"Such a pretty toy, aren't you?" He is never sure if he is supposed to reply when asked a question, so he doesn't. "You'll be good, won't you?"

 

He doesn't need to reply. He knows he would do anything.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Fenrir watches as Malfoy's son cringes away from him. The brat is naked, with deep welts running across his thighs. The Dark Lord had already visited him, clearly.

 

"Come," He demands. Hesitantly, the brat crawls over to him, knowing better than to stand. He stills when he is centimetres away from Fenrir's crotch.

 

"Suck me," He orders, pulling out his cock. The brat's eyes widen when he sets eyes on Fenrir's impressive girth. Another perk to being a wolf.

 

The boy slowly takes him in hand and licks over his shaft, screwing his eyes shut at the taste. Fenrir sighs, impatient, before ramming his entire shaft down the boy's throat with no warning. He relishes the little heaving whimpers the brat makes as he struggles to breathe around him.

 

Suddenly though, the boy's whimpers turn into desparate choking, and the area around his cock feels oddly wet and warm.

 

The brat looks at him in horror, vomit dripping from the corners of his mouth, already scrabbling backwards.

 

Fenrir is disgusted. The brat is deserving of a proper punishment.

 

**

 

Harry sits with Hermione and Ron, at the almost empty table in Grimmauld Palace. They need to devise a plan.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_He can do this. He can do it. He can get them in, he can kill Dumbledore. Of course he can._

 

_**_

 

Draco's fingers scrabble at the wood of the floor, trying to find purchase as the belt comes down over the abused flesh of his arse again and again. His lips are a bloody mess from biting them, trying to keep quiet. He is not allowed to express his pain. He knows that now.

 

He'll do better next time. He'll be so, so good.

 

**

 

Voldemort looks over the Malfoy boy's small form. He is sleeping fitfully in the corner of his prison, and he can see how far down he has been broken.

 

Usually he breaks someone and then kills them. Playthings are no fun unless they fight back, or even have a flicker of resistance in their eyes.

 

He is going to make an exception for Draco. Draco is a pretty little thing. It would be a shame to waste him. He will be even prettier when he is completely broken, and he knows he isn't far from it.

 

**

 

Today it is the beast. Maybe he shouldn't say today. He doesn't know how much time passes anymore. Maybe it is not a day, maybe it is night? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

 

The dress is yellow, like the sun which he has not seen in so, so long. Fenrir has it bunched up to his waist as he harshly bounces him on his cock. His breath hitches with each thrust, each one hurting a little more.

 

He didn't feel any embarrassment when he was dressed up. He has stopped feeling humiliation at the things he is dressed up in anymore.

 

**

Even the monsters must be running out of ideas by now, he thinks.

 

**

 

"We're having guests today, little toy, so you'll be good, won't you?"

 

A nod, and then he is left alone in the dark, still wearing the yellow dress.

 

**

 

The Beast bends his index finger backwards until the delicate bone snaps. The boy jolts, stiffling a shriek behind his other hand.

 

"Please," He croaks. Please don't hurt me. I'll do it. I'll do anything you want.

 

The Beast just stares at him. He can't figure out the look in his eyes, but it makes him tremble all the same.

 

The Beast breaks every finger on his left hand. Draco sobs. He has never been good with pain. He is even worse now he knows what true pain is.

 

**

 

He dreams of green. Green ties, green robes, green jackets, green bedclothes. Everything is green. He dreams of laughing with a girl with short dark hair. She reminds him of flowers.

 

He doesn't know why.

 

**

 

The Snake monster is allowing him to bathe, and not knowing why terrifies him. He hasn't had a bath in, a very long time. He hasn't been out of the room for. Weeks? Months? Maybe.

 

His underused legs shake beneath him as he staggers into the bathroom, the Snake's hand on his shoulder. His gaze lingers on the green dress folded on the closed toilet seat, along with a pair of white tights. Oh. He is not having a quiet night. He swallows.

 

**

 

He reminds himself that he will be returned to his room soon, returned to the dark. Tonight will not last forever. They will get bored eventually.

 

**

 

Please. Help. Anyone. Please, please, please.


	6. Chapter 6

He lies prostate on the floor, arse in the air, face pressed into his arms. Fenrir has one foot on the back of his neck, holding him in place as his pack circles him. One of them tugs up the dress, exposing him to the cool air of the room. He shivers, and it is not just because of the cold.

 

**

 

He was wrong. They have not run out of ideas.

 

**

 

_My pack had so much fun with the boy. You should've seen him, arse in the air, sweating like a skinned fucking rabbit. And they call us the beasts._

_Simon had a go at him first. Simon and me have the same sort of taste. Young and pretty. Malfoy junior probably used to think that his looks would get him a beautiful wife and a pretty heir. Too bad. Bet the runt wished he was ugly as old Severus when we were done with him._

_Anyway, back to Simon. Simon likes pain, and lots of it. First thing he did after circling the boy was jam two fingers into his arse, no preparation. The boy squealed so good. Simon had him there and then, making the boy shriek as blood ran down his legs._

_It was funny at first, hearing the boy squeal like a pig, but it did start to get annoying. I wasn't the only one who thought that, as Adam stepped forward with his cock out. He didn't even have to be instructed, just opened his mouth and took it all in one._

_Me, Jake and Joe watched them for a while. The boy was rocked between them, cradling his damaged hand to his chest._

_Eventually, we all had our way with him, until the boy was limp between us and the dress was soiled._

 

_When the evening was done, the boy's hair was matted in semen and his throat was a bloody mess. I'm not even going to say what his ass looked like._

 

**

 

Draco fidgets on the floor, trying to curl up in a way that wasn't painful. No position worked. Pain radiated from every cell in his body.

 

He freezes when he hears light footsteps on the steps outside. His mouth works in an effort not to sob.

 

Hasn't he done enough? Can't his Lord wait just a little longer?

 

**

 

He hooks Draco's leg over his shoulder, parting the boy's arse for what must've been the dozenth time that night. He knew that Greyback and his pack had his way with him earlier.

 

He can smell the blood that is seeping from between the boy's legs. He knows how torn the boy is. If he was a caring man, he would wait until he had healed a little.

 

But even when he was a man with a mortal name, he was not patient. He slams into the boy, enjoying the screech as the boy is torn once more.

 

**

 

Draco rubs the thin material of the dress between his fingertips. This one is a glittery pink, reaching just above his knees. The Snake dressed him in it earlier, and he has been left in the dark ever since.

 

He waits.

 

**

 

A booted stomp. A light creak.

 

**

 

He thinks the Beast prefers him in the dresses, seems to be rougher with him when he is wearing one.

 

He knows more about the Beast than the Snake, because the Beast comes more often. The Beast's games are physical, each one promising pain and more pain. Whenever he hears the Beast's booted stomp, he knows he cannot cry out, no matter what the Beast does to him this time.

 

**

 

Salazar, he is so hungry. Please, please please. Anything. Please.

 

**

 

In front of the fireplace, he sits in the Beast's lap, compliant and still. The dress has long been torn off, and the Beast is merely fondling him. Somehow, it is worse than actual penetration. He doesn't know what's coming this way. This way, things are unexpected.

 

The Beast takes a swig of his drink. He squeezes Draco's genitals, making him stiffen even further. His breath smells of alcohol as turns Draco's head towards him, moving his hand off of his genitals. For a gloriously hopeful second Draco thinks he may be left alone, until he feels a nudge at his entrance.

 

**

 

He cannot remember a time when this was not his life, not really. He has always been this, a plaything, a toy.

 

Unconsciously, Draco's thumb finds its way into his mouth. It is a small comfort.

 

**

 

He is hopeless.

 

**

 

Harry feels the stinging hex as it hits his face. Seconds later he feels his face swell up, making him almost unrecognisable. He is grabbed roughly by the forearm and is spun around to face his captor. He finds himself staring at the leering face of Fenrir Greyback.

 


	7. Chapter 7

He loves the dark. He wishes it would last forever.

 

**

 

"No..." Draco whispers. He doesn't want to. Not now, not ever.

 

In response he gets a fist colliding with the side of his jaw, making him topple from his position on his knees so he's lying sprawled out on the floor. He tastes blood in his mouth.

 

"Listen hear, you little fuckwit, I get to do whatever I want to you! And you're going to take it like a good bitch, because if you don't, I'll fucking skin you alive!"

 

Draco trembles in response, nodding frantically.

 

**

 

There is not one part of him that does not hurt. His skin is painted in blacks of blues from the savage beating Fenrir gave him.

 

The bruises turn a sickly yellow colour, and by the time they have faded new ones have formed.

 

**

 

The boy kneels by his Lordship's chair, not really focusing on what he is saying. He is too busy trying to look at the room around him without it being obvious. His Lordship does not like him knowing things.

 

His hair makes a curtain across his face, and he stares through it inconspicuously. He can see a woman with wild hair. Next to her is a man with dark hair and a beard, and next to _him_ is a man that resembles him in a way that he cannot figure out. On the wild-haired womans other side sits a blonde woman, with a pale, pointed face who keeps sneaking glances at him. She's sitting next to a similarly blond haired man, who looks ill. He has bruises under his eyes and doesn't look at him. Deliberately, he thinks. Draco thinks that he is the reason why the blonde couple look so sick. He knows them from somewhere, but his mind too slow and clouded to think properly. He just knows that those people resemble safety, of a sort.

 

He doesn't know why he thinks like that. He doesn't know a lot of things anymore.

 

He shifts by the Snake's feet, the silky material of the dress chafing against his legs. He isn't entirely sure why he has been dragged out of the room, bathed and dressed up prettily. He prays to anything that it isn't for the same reasons as the Beast and the company he keeps.

 

"And now, my loyal followers, I have a gift for you-" The Snake says, grabbing him by the neck and hauling him to a stand. His legs shake beneath him. "-this little toy would be perfectly happy to entertain you for the rest of the evening." He says it in a way that makes it clear that he really wouldn't. "Severus, Bellatrix, I have need of you both. As for the rest of you,"

 

The Snake smirks, "do enjoy yourselves."

 

And then the Snake leaves, followed by the wild-haired woman and a man with greasy black hair.

 

And Draco entered another level of hell.

 

**

 

He doesn't dare look at the rest of them. He doesn't dare _not_ look at the rest of them.

 

**

 

He is choking on the things stuffed into his mouth, whimpering from being thrust up into from behind, cringing away from the hands that burnt trails in their wake.

 

He is too far gone to even make out the faces which the hands belonged to, the hands that plundered and tore, the hands that hurt.

 

Sharp nails drag over his nipple. He moans. The hands go lower and he finds he no longer has any tears left to fall.

 

**

 

So, so many hands.

 

**

 

 _Beg_.

 

He begs.

 

 _Scream_.

 

He screams.

 

 _Cry_.

 

He cries.

 

**

 

He doesn't notice the distressed look the blonde woman gives him before she vanishes with the man. He is too occupied trying not to throw up. He doesn't want to ever go through that punishment again.

 

**

 

One of the hands lifts up the skirt of the dress, exposing his crotch to the room.

 

"Well, aren't you a pretty little toy?"

 

He nods, not knowing what else do to. The owner of the hands laughs. It is a cruel sound.

 

**

 

He cannot even move by the end. His limbs have turned to stone, they refuse to even let him crawl away.

 

**

 

Please, kill me. Kill me, kill me, kill me. I can't do this anymore.

 

**

 

He is breaking, and they all know it.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

He stares down at the boy, enjoying the way he trembles from his mere presence.

 

"Draco," He says,

 

"Y-yes, m-m-my L-Lord." He stammers, keeping his eyes on the floor.

 

The boy has developed a permanent stutter, and is barely able to get a sentence out correctly.

 

How sweet.

 

**

 

He can't talk properly. His voice is croaky from misuse and he suspects that his throat is bruised. His words come out mashed together or in little pieces. They come out _wrong_.

 

**

 

He avoids getting things wrong by refusing to talk at all.

 

**

 

At first he was angry, but knowing the brat can't beg for him to stop makes it so much funnier, watching the brat try to talk, and watch him try _not_ to talk.

 

**

 

Draco cringes as the Snake pulls out his wand, already scrambling backwards, muted apologies on his lips.

 

The Dark Lord watches as the boy curls himself into the corner, gulping back tears. He keeps his wand pointed at the boy, not casting a spell. Just watching.

 

**

 

The Beast comes more often than the Snake, but Draco fears him more. The Beast is more physical, more into humiliating in ways he didn't even think existed, but the Snake, the Snake plays _games_.

 

**

 

The games are terrifying and make him want to scream;

 

or worse, die.

 

**

 The Beast and the rest of his company like pictures.

 

He doesn't, and leans away from the flash every single time.

 

**

 

Click. Click. Click.

 

**

 

He kneels between the Snake's legs, mouthing at him the way he knows he likes. He is talking, another meeting the boy has been forced to. The Snake curls his fingers into his hair, and the boy struggles not to choke as his cock is forced deeper into his mouth.

 

If he does it well enough, maybe he won't be given to the rest of them today.

 

**

 

The Snake pulls the boy out from under the table, saying words that the boy can't hope to comprehend. And then he vanishes, and leaves the boy with _them_.

 

**

 

Please. Don't leave me here. With them. Please.

 

Help.

 

**

 

Draco is soon forced into someones lap, dress hitched up his legs, harshly thrust into. He screws his eyes tightly shut, not wanting to see those who are waiting. There are always more.

 

He is abruptly tipped over, falling face-first into the floor, the man still inside him. The man pounds into him relentlessly, gripping the dress so hard it tears, uncaring of the blood dribbling down his legs. His fingers drag across the floor, desparately trying to find something to hold onto throughout the never-ending assault.

 

"I've always wondered what it would feel like to fuck someone while they're under crucio," A husky voice says. It takes a second for the words to register, but as soon as Draco understands what is going to happen he starts struggling in earnest. The man partially falls out of him, but other hands pin him to the floor as he is thrusted into again, so he has no choice but to hold still.

 

_Please no, not that. No, nonononononono-_

 

"Wonder no more," Someone else says. Moments later, Draco is writhing in agony, still impaled on the mans cock.

 

**

 

Harry is forced to his knees by Greyback, and he never takes his eyes off of Hermione and Ron. Greyback circles him, staring at him with a sneer worthy of Draco Malfoy.

 

Talking of the Malfoy's, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy were standing off to the side, almost nervously. The once proud Lucius looked sickly, and was clinging to Narcissa's hand like a lifeline. Bellatrix Lestrange stood behind them, a devious look on her face. Harry noted that Draco Malfoy wasn't there.

 

"Well," Greyback said, "is it him? Is this Potter?"

 

Harry was immensly greatful for Hermione's stinging hex. With it, they couldn't be entirely sure if it was really him or not.

 

Narcissa Malfoy stared at him. "I wouldn't know, I have never seen him before," she lies. She seems to steel herself before continuing. "but... Draco, Draco went to school with him for six years. If anybody would be able to tell, it would be Draco." It sounds like she is almost pleading with him.

 

Fenrir laughs cruelly. "Your brat doesn't really notice much around him anymore, _Cissa_."

 

Harry risks a glance at Ron and Hermione, and find them wearing similiar expressions of confusion, with horror mixed in as they begin to understand what Fenrir is insinuating.

 

Lucius Malfoy suddenly steps forwards, kneeling in front of Harry. "I met the Potter boy on multiple occasions, I can tell if it is him."

 

Harry's heart stops for a second, knowing that it is over. Lucius Malfoy is loyal to Voldemort, he will hand Harry over to his executioner, and the war will-

 

"It's not him. I would know, and it is not." He says firmly.

 

It will be a while before Harry knows why Lucius Malfoy lied for him.

 

**

 

He wonders why his mind hasn't snapped already.

 

But then he thinks that maybe it has and he just doesn't realise it yet.

 


	9. Chapter 9

He wraps his arms around himself, curled into the corner of the dark. He tiredly sucked his thumb. He really needed to stop doing it, the thumb was starting to get callouses.

 

But he didn't get much - or any - comfort, so he would take what he could get.

 

**

 

He shivers as the cold hands lightly trail over his stomach. He hates this, hates how the Snake does it so lightly, almost _innocently_. He wants to push him off, scream, fight... but he knows he would never be able to. Terror weighs him down.

 

The Snake is watching him carefully, looking for any sign of disobedience. He forces himself not to even twitch has the hands part his thighs.

 

**

 

The Beast is so, so _angry_. Draco doesn't move from the corner as the Beast stalks towards him. He keeps one hand clamped tightly over his mouth, forcing himself to keep quiet. The Beast likes _making_ him scream but never likes it when he _does_.

 

The Beast roughy grabs him by the arm, hauling him from the safety of his corner. The Beast leers at him, licking his lips like he is planning to eat him. He almost begs him too. He wouldn't be able to hurt if he was dead.

 

**

 

Sometimes, he finds, he can make himself disappear, in a sense. Whilst his body is being degraded and abused, if he is lucky he can lock himself inside his head, listening only for new humiliating orders which he follows without question. Those are the good days, where everything is just so numb he can't really distinguish one touch from another.

 

But today;

 

today is a bad, bad day.

 

He feels _everything_.

 

**

 

In the very back of his mind, he wonders if letting the Monster's do things to him makes him a monster too. Maybe if he was a monster, they wouldn't hurt him anymore.

 

**

 

He shys away from the camera as another one of the Beast's company steps forwards with it. The Beast pulls him by his hair, holding him in place as the camera flashes and clicks, photographing every inch of him.

 

"Spread your legs, boy,"

 

He does.

 

**

 

He doesn't really know what makes him more afraid, the Snake's meetings or the Beast's company. Every time without fail, both experiences end with him being dragged, usually by his hair, back to the dark of his room.

 

**

 

He is so, so tired. They never let him sleep. They never stop. They keep him up until he can barely move through his exhaustion, until he falls asleep while they're still inside him, and then he'll wake to a slap in the face and it starts again.

 

**

 

He kneels in the centre of the room, his gaze firmly fixed to the floor. The Beast circles him. He's talking about something, but Draco can't focus on his words. He hopes he isn't giving orders.

 

A warm hand trails over the frills in the pink dress. And then suddenly a vial of liquid is being forced down his throat, and he is being pulled by his hair. He struggles to crawl after the Beast, his legs still shaky from the Snake's visit.

 

Just before he feels the sickening pull at his body, he feels something change inside of him. And then he is in the meeting room, being pushed under the table. Draco watches the Beast leave, dread uncoiling in his stomach.

 

**

 

He orders Fenrir to give the boy a lust potion, and sees the effects as soon as the smirking werewolf drags his pet to the table. The boy's eyes are diluted, his skin unusually pink, and he keeps fidgeting - not in his usual nervous way. The boy is _aroused_ , and Voldemort has no doubt that he is terrified by it.

 

He smiles.

 

**

 

The Dark Lord watches from his end of the table as his followers have their fun with Lucius Malfoy's son.

 

The Lestranges, particularly Rabastan, seem to like the boy the most. Or dislike, however you want to think about it. Bellatrix joins in, throwing painful hexes and curses until the boy is left a shrieking mess between them.

 

But it is when he is being bounced on Yaxley's cock that the boy suddenly stills, and makes an odd, desparate sound before coming, long ribbons of white splattering over Yaxley's chest. Yaxley slaps the boy's arse, causing him to flinch violently, Yaxley almost falling out of him.

 

"Seems like we have a real slut here!" He says, quickly righting himself and continuing to pound into the boy.

 

The boy sobs, tears sliding down his face. He doesn't want this and it is made worse by the fact that they all know it.

 

His tears don't stop him from being handed over to the next eager man when the previous is satisfied, and they don't stop him from orgasming five times over the course of the rest of the night.

 

**

 

They don't stop him from sobbing until his bones feel like liquid. They don't stop him from sucking on his thumb until the digit is wrinkled from his mouth, either.

 

**

 

"Make me a monster," The boy pleads to his imagination.


	10. Chapter 10

The boy is his.

 

**

 

He cringes in terror when he hears footsteps outside, knowing that by the time he is left alone again he will be aware of new horrors.

 

**

 

They start to stick _things_ in him. Things that are hard and unforgiving, leaving him frozen in fear just by the size of them. He is long past screaming and begging at the things done to him, and instead he just lets salty tears run down his face, the occasional pained whimper mixed in.

 

**

 

He is punished when he disobeys. He is punished when he doesn't.

 

**

 

He sits on the Snake's lap, thumb pressed against the roof of his mouth. He isn't at a meeting, but in a different room. It is the only time he has ever been in here with only the Snake: the last time had them both and the time before that he doesn't bear to think of. He glances uneasily at the poker and the fireplace, which luckily isn't lit.

 

He shifts minutely, the Snake's hands digging into his hips making him want to run and hide. It would be pointless, yet he can't help but consider it.

 

"Aren't you a good toy?" The Snake says. He nods. He is so, so good. All the time, even if he doesn't want to be.

 

"Don't you know your place?"

 

He nods again. He knows exactly what his place is. He is nothing more than a toy, to be used when the Monster's command it.

 

**

 

His body is not his own.

 

**

 

He squirms on the floor, no position feeling comfortable. The hard wooden floor never really is comfortable, but over the past few nights it has been slowly getting worse. Or maybe it's over the past few days? He hasn't left the dark for a while.

 

He scratches over his chest. The skin feels too tight, like he is going to burst. It is so _itchy_ , as well, especially over the Monster's marks. He rolls over to his back, closing his eyes against the dark, willing himself to sleep.

 

**

 

He dreams of safety. He dreams of a large house and a man and a woman, both vaguely familiar. He dreams of being given gifts that make his smile, not scream, of feeling proud and prideful. He dreams of talking with two hulking boys, of laughing with a dark haired girl. He thinks he may have dreamed of her before.

 

But most of all he dreams of being safe. No monsters, no games. Just... being held and not fearing it would go further.

 

**

 

He wakes to scratch marks over his skin and blood under his nails.

 

**

 

Maybe his mind has begun to desert him, because he thinks that he really doesn't see the Snake that much anymore. In itself it is not a bad thing, because the Snake is terrifying in every way possible, but at the same time it is a bad thing. Because the Beast is so, so angry.

 

**

 

One time, the Beast threatens to cut out his tongue in a fit of rage. Draco waits for the fear to hit him, however all he feels is a numb acceptance. If the Beast wants to do it he will.

 

Instead the Beast decides to dress him up in one of the hateful outfits and pin him to the floor for an endless amount of time.

 

**

 

The bruises always take a long time to fade, yet he is sure he prefers this outcome over the other. He thinks he would miss his tongue if it wasn't in his mouth.

 

**

 

"Hold him still, I wanna try something!" One of the Beast's company says. Draco is sitting in the Beast's lap, his back against his chest as the Beast fucks up into him with a punishing pace. The Beast stopped when the other spoke, still lodged inside him.

 

"Hold his legs up to his chest," Not many people can tell the Beast what to do, but he must like what the other is saying because he snakes his arm under Draco's knees and pulls them upto his chest, taking care not to slip out.

 

Draco feels something else up against his entrance and twitches, looking at the man with wet, pleading eyes. He can't take anymore, he _can't_.

 

But the man refuses to listen to his wordless pleas, taking his time as he slowly slides himself into Draco, alongside the Beast.

 

Draco moans, feeling too impossibly full. He wriggles frantically, wanting them both out _now_.

 

They fuck him until he screams.

 

By the end of it his legs are too wobbly to crawl back to the dark, and he is thrown over the Beast's shoulder in a tangle of limbs and torn fabric.

 

**

 

Harry lays immobile in the forest, taking silent breaths through his mouth. He is not dead. By all rights he should be.

 

Narcissa Malfoy bends down next to him. He doesn't move an inch, but already he knows she is not fooled by his act.

 

"Can you find Draco?" She whispered.

 

Harry has no idea what finding Draco would entail, or what state he would be in once he was found, as Fenrir Greyback made it quite clear that Draco was being tortured, how badly Harry didn't know. But he owed the Malfoy's for lying for him.

 

"Yes," He whispers back. Narcissa stood, looking Lord Voldemort directly in his blood-red eyes.

 

"Quite dead." She lies. She is believed without question.


	11. Chapter 11

_He lies still in Hagrid's arms._

 

**

 

The dark seems to be longer than usual. Of course, he can't really keep track, and hasn't been able to for a long time. But the time between visits seems to be getting longer, the more time he is spent in the dark, clutching at scraps of sanity. They come less and less.

 

**

 

_He drops his act._

 

**

 

He is never really sure if he is awake or not. There is dark in the room and dark behind his eyelids.

 

He sleeps.

 

**

 

_They duel._

 

**

 

He is so hungry. His stomach keeps cramping painfully, making him moan pitifully. But he prefers this over anything else, a slow death rather than being kept alive to suffer.

 

Maybe the Monster's are finally offering him kindness.

 

**

 

_Red clashes against Green._

 

**

 

He wakes to the sound of boots among stone, stiffening instantly. He knows they only ever come this way for one thing.

 

His nightmare isn't over.

 

**

 

_The evil is defeated._

 

**

 

He wraps his arms around his knees, dropping his head onto them. He never likes looking at them at all, much less in the eyes.

 

The footsteps stop outside the room, almost hesitant. He lifts his head. Maybe... they aren't here to hurt him. He hopes.

 

His hopes drop down into his toes when he glimpses at the person who opened the door.

 

**

 

"Are you sure he's in here?"

 

"Probably. Who cares, anyway? It's just a toy!"

 

"Evidence, you idiot! We have to make it look like this place hasn't been used in months."

 

**

 

He recognises the man immediatly from the Snake's meetings. He blinks, gulping around the lump in his throat.

 

_What is going on? What new horror is this?_

 

The man stalks towards him, wearing an expression that sends terror racing through him.

 

Please. Don't make me the entertainment.

 

He grabbed by the arm, the man's fingers digging painfully into the Monster's marks. The man starts to drag him to the door, taking him away from the dark. The nails on his free hand scratch against the floor, trying to find purchase, trying to stop himself being dragged away.

 

He doesn't know what is going on, but is sure he wants none of it.

 

**

 

Rabastan lost his patience quickly, grabbing the boy by the hair and storming across the room to where Yaxley and MacNair were waiting, the only Death Eater's who had managed to evade custody of Aurors.

 

The portkey was in Yaxley's hands, waiting to be activated.

 

"He looks half dead," Yaxley commented at the boy's appearance. The boy shrank back from him, but otherwise didn't react to them.

 

Draco felt the sickly pull of the Portkey, and then they vanished, leaving only miniscule pieces of evidence behind.

 

**

 

They sat at the table, the boy kneeling by their feet, thumb in his mouth. He squints at the sudden harsh light.

 

"Who else survived?"

 

"Not sure, but I think the Malfoy's did. Maybe Nott as well. I know that Crabbe's boy died." Yaxley said, glancing at the boy for a reaction, knowing he used to be friendly with Crabbe's son. The boy continued to stare mutely at the floor. The only indication that he wasn't petrified was the rise and fall of his stomach. It was starting to get on his nerves, the way he was so compliant. In his experience it was better when they had some fight left in them.

 

**

 

Rabastan tugged on the boy's hair, indicating he should follow him. Instead of standing, the boy followed him on all fours.

 

Yaxley snorted, and he and Macnair shared a sly smirk. Even Rabastan looked amused.

 

Yaxley continued to listen as Rabastan closed the doors to one of the bedrooms with an omninous click.

 

A few minutes later high-pitched, reedy wails could be heard through the thin wood of the door.

 

**

 

_It is time for the clean-up._

 

**

 

"Mr Potter," A quiet voice called. Harry turned to find himself staring into the pale, pointed face of Narcissa Malfoy, who was being escorted by an Auror.

 

"Mrs Malfoy," He said politely. He was grateful for her and Lucius lying for him, but that did not mean he held any great liking for the woman. He had spoken at both of their trails, leaving Lucius Malfoy's sentenced to three years in Azkaban and Narcissa Malfoy house arrest for two years.

 

"Mr Dawlish, may I have a moment alone with Mr Potter?" She asked. Dawlish looked uncertain until Harry nodded at him. He was their saviour, he could get anything he wanted from them. Dawlish wandered a little way down the corridor, keeping his eye on them. Harry cast a silencing spell.

 

"Mrs Malfoy?"

 

"Mr Potter, I am sure you are aware by now that my son has not been found?" Her voice cracked slightly. Harry politely ignored it.

 

Harry nodded. "I heard a bit," He hadn't been told that, but from their trials he had managed to put some things together to form a horrible picture in his head.

 

"I need to know, are you going to keep your word?" She asked seriously.

 

He nodded again. "I am. I can get people out searching for him, but Mrs Malfoy, it has been a while since you last saw him, it is a possibility that he-"

 

"Yes! I know my son may be dead, don't you think that it haunts me? Knowing I couldn't do anything to save my son?"

 

"Okay, but I just needed to ask. I can get people looking-"

 

"Mr Potter, I would only trust you. I wouldn't trust the other Aurors. My son is still, technically, a Death Eater. I wouldn't trust them with him-"

 

"Mrs Malfoy, we have to leave." Auror Dawlish interrupted, taking her arm.

 

Harry watched them leave, a pensive look on his tired face. He owed the Malfoy's. Big time.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry recognised the house from his nightmarish visions. The Riddle house.

 

The house was old and to a muggle would seem to be falling down, but Harry can sense the preservation wards in the property.

 

Harry, Ron, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Auror John Dawlish had been searching for the Dark Lord's safe houses. It seemed obvious to start here.

 

Kingsley goes first, as Harry and Ron are still technically only in training, with Auror Dawlish next and them following at the rear.

 

The house is devoid of people, and once Kingsley has checked for harmful spells, he orders them to search for any evidence. Dawlish and Kingsley search downstairs whilst he and Ron take the second floor.

 

Ron goes left and Harry goes right. Harry holds his wand in front of him as he turns the handle of the first door. It doesn't budge.

 

"Alohomora," He says, and the door unlocks with a click.

 

He holds the door open as he takes a step inside, blinking at the sudden dark. And then the smell hits him and he staggers backwards, one hand on the door handle.

 

The air in the dark room is thick with the smell of piss and sweat. Harry took a deep breath through his mouth, steeling himself for what he may find inside. For _who_ he may find inside.

 

"Lumos," The tip of his wand illuminated the rest of the room. Harry stepped inside the room again. He noted that there was no window, no way for any natural light to enter. He could see from the light of his wand that the room was completely empty.

 

Though the room was empty now, he knew someone had been in it fairly recently. There were magical signatures all over the house, and smaller signs people had at least passed through here.

 

Harry left the dark room and followed Ron's footsteps, which lead to a medium sized bedroom. Ron was riffling through a large trunk at the bottom of the bed, an odd look on his face.

 

"Anything?" He asks. Ron shrugs.

 

"If you count creepy rooms and dresses anything, than yes." He pulls out a sunflower-yellow dress, tossing it towards Harry. "Why is this even here? What use would Death Eaters have of these?" He pulled out another dress, this one a glittery pink with rips down the left side.

 

Harry tells Ron about the dark room that reeks of piss. Neither of them know what to make of it.

 

Harry isn't sure he wants to know, either.

 

**

 

They take to keeping him in a wooden box when he is not needed. It isn't really big enough, not really. He has to squeeze his legs up to his chest when they close the lid, and when it is closed he can barely move an inch. Sometimes, if he's been bad or not good enough, they'll tie his hands together behind him, leaving him to blink back tears as his hands go numb.

 

Sometimes he thinks he has been left in the box for years and years and years.

 

**

 

He is sure about this one. Certain. It's the third safe house they would have raided this week, but he is very, very sure he'll find _something_ there.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry didn't know what to expect when they raided the safe house, but he had certainly never considered _this._

 

He had expected the Death Eaters, of course. They found three of them; Rabastan Lestrange, Corban Yaxley and Walden Macnair, hiding in the house. They clearly hadn't been expecting them as they hadn't been all that hard to stun and bind.

 

Auror John Dawlish and Kingsley would take them back to the Ministery for sentencing while Harry and Ron searched the house for any dark curses or objects.

 

They had stayed on the first floor, Ron taking the basement and Harry searching the first bedroom.

 

The room wasn't very significant in its decoration. It was plain, a dark grey coverlet on the bed and very few personalised items. None at all, actually.

 

Harry had started casting spells on the room, checking for any curses when he suddenly heard a strange sound. It sounded like a mix between a sob and a whimper. He stopped the spells and listened.

 

He was met with silence for a few moments, before he heard the strange sound again. He realised it was coming from the direction of the bed.

 

Then he realised a second later that the sound wasn't coming from the bed at all, that it instead was coming from the wooden box at the end of the bed. Harry swallowed, knowing what he was going to find wouldn't be at all pleasant.

 

He grasped the padlock on the box, muttering "Alohamora". The padlock clicked and dropped to the floor. Harry gripped the lid tightly in his hands, then slowly opened the box.

 

He stared in horror at the person curled up in the box, for he knew who he was instantly. He would recognise that white-blond hair anywhere, no matter how long and greasy it was.

 

"Malfoy?" He gasped. Malfoy whimpered, making small movements, not being able to do much more. Harry looked closer and saw his hands tied behind him. Harry muttered the unbinding spell. The bonds around Malfoy's wrists broke, but Malfoy didn't move.

 

"Malfoy, can you, uh, stand up?" Harry asked. Malfoy didn't seem to have heard him, taking breaths so ragged Harry worried about him having a panic attack.

 

"Harry?" Ron called from the hall, "I heard you talking-" Ron stopped when he saw Harry bent over the box. He couldn't see the actual person, but the shock of finding someone alive was enough to silence him.

 

"Ron, can you go get me a shock blanket?" Harry whispered. Ron nodded and disappeared down the hall.

 

"Malfoy, can you say something, anything?" He was getting nowhere with getting Malfoy out of the box. Harry gently eased his arms around Malfoy's bony shoulders, surprised when Malfoy went completely limp as Harry carefully lifted him out of the box. Harry knelt on the floor with Malfoy, not entirely sure what to do next.

 

**

 

Footsteps. Someone is coming. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that maybe they'll leave him alone.

 

_Please. Please leave me alone._

 

**

 

The lock breaks.

 

Slowly, the lid of the box is eased open. There is light.

 

**

 

Ron came back with the shock blanket, and Harry instantly saw the moment he realised who was in Harry's arms.

 

"Harry, is that Mal-" He handed him the blanket, eyes focused on Malfoy's far too skinny body. Malfoy had always been thin, but now he was skeletal. His skin is pale to the point of ashen, and is mottled with bruises of various sizes and colour. Harry wraps the blanket around Malfoy, noting he was still trembling.

 

"We need to get him to Mungos, now." Surprisingly, Ron didn't argue.

 

"Kingsley set up the floo. Do you want me to go ahead, explain the situation?" He offers. Harry nods, grateful for Ron's quick thinking. Ron disappears down the hall again and a minute later Harry heard the roar of the floo.

 

"Draco, can you walk?"

 

Malfoy didn't answer, just stared at the floor. He shakily lifted his hand to put his thumb in his mouth. Harry asked him again and got the same result.

 

Having no other options, Harry lifted Malfoy into his arms bridal-style, making sure he didn't drop the blanket. Malfoy didn't weigh nearly as much as he should of done.

 

He made his way to the door with ease, pausing in the doorway to take one last look at the box Malfoy was in. His mind catapulted him back to the dark room that stank of piss and the torn dresses Ron found.

 

**

 

Poor git.


	14. Chapter 14

Draco clings to the soft material of the blanket as Harry carries him through the halls of St Mungos, Ron and a relatively young Healer named Rhee flanking them, taking him to the private room Ron had secured. Harry is impressed that he managed to explain the situation and get a private room in under five minutes.

 

Ron doesn't follow them into the room, instead quietly telling Harry that he needs to tell Kingsley what has happened. Harry is glad he isn't the one who has to do it.

 

Harry gently lowers Malfoy on the soft mattress and steps back to let Healer Rhee and another Healer named Greene to examine him. They keep their wands tucked inside the pockets of their robes. Ron must've told them about Draco's possible trauma, which was now not looking merely 'possible.'

 

Some of the whip marks on his back have opened up and are bleeding; he has broken ribs, likely from being beaten; the scars on his feet are going to need healing, and the fingers on his left hand have already set brokenly, will need to be broken again. Draco doesn't react to being told his fingers will have to be broken again, just stares blankly at the white bed sheet, still sucking his thumb. He doesn't protest as Healer Rhee asks to examine him rectally, just spreads his legs, looking so resigned to it that Harry feels sick. He feels even sicker when Healer Rhee takes out a jar of what Harry recognises as Dittany and begins applying it down _there_.

 

 _So someone had... done that to Malfoy_. Harry knows he shouldn't be shocked, as the state they found him in was a huge indicator, but he can't help but feel as if someone has just dumped a vat of freezng cold water over him.

 

When she is done, Healer Rhee busies herself finding remedial potions in the cabinet in the corner of the room. Healer Greene slowly pushes Malfoy until he is sitting up, Healer Rhee passing her some Dittany which she lightly rubs into the whip marks that are bleeding. Malfoy winces around his thumb, but otherwise is still.

 

"How old is he?" Healer Greene asks.

 

"I think his birthday was in June, so eighteen. I think." Harry can't remember Malfoy's exact birth date, but is sure it's around June or July.

 

"Well, Mr Potter, I can tell you from the get-go that your friend here is extremely underweight and malnourished. The Dittany will heal the marks on his back and stop any further infection, but I am afraid there will be scarring, the same goes for the burn scars on his feet. We can re-break the fingers in the morning, as I think the best thing to do now would be to get him something to eat. I can heal his ribs now, but will need to use my wand. May I?"

 

"...I guess," Hary said, not wanting to leave Malfoy in anymore pain than strictly necessary. Healer Greene nodded, slowly taking her wand out from her pocket, not wanting to startle Malfoy.

 

Harry can see the exact moment Malfoy glimpses the wand, because he stiffens, eyes widening, and somehow manages to pale even further. He whimpers, and takes a heaving breath, trying to scramble backwards off of the bed. Harry is at his side as he tips over the edge, catching him before he hits the floor.

 

"You're alright, it's okay, you're fine," he mumbles in a desparate attempt to reassure Malfoy that they're not going to hurt him, not now and not ever.

 

" _Episky_ ," Healer Greene says, and Malfoy twitches as his ribs crack back into place. His eyes are wild with fear, flickering from face to face, and Harry finds himself distressed by the lack of recognition in them.

 

Healer Rhee frowns as she looks over Malfoy's left arm. "What's that?" She asks, looking over his faded Dark Mark. Harry starts to wonder what she is talking about when he realises that she isn't looking at the Dark Mark, rather the faded marks over it.

 

"From here it looks like a bitemark, but I can't be sure. Maybe I could get some DNA from it?"

 

Harry doesn't know why they keep asking him for permission, but he nods anyway. Healer Rhee slowly takes out her own wand, making sure Malfoy can see what she's doing as she takes a DNA sample.

 

"I'll put this down for processing, and get something for him to eat," She says, before leaving the room.

 

Harry leans Malfoy back the pillows, still whispering soothingly to him. He is at loss for what else to do.

 

"Mr Potter, will he be sentenced?"

 

Harry blinks and then feels stupid for not thinking of that before. No matter the state they found him in, he was still technically a wanted Death Eater. Though he really wasn't in any state for that, at least not right now.

 

"I guess something would have to happen..." He trails off, not knowing what else to say. Healer Greene nods.

 

"I'm no Mind Healer, but it is safe to say your friend has been through a lot. There will be trauma, if today is anything to go by. I can arrange a Mind Healer to see him, if you wish."

 

"Why do you keep asking me? I'm hardly his mother, and we weren't even friends."

 

Healer Greene smiles knowingly. "It seems that Auror programme neglected to inform you that as you found Mr Malfoy and he currently has no guardians who can care for him, he is technically in your custody."

 

"Oh..." Harry says. Why does everyone always neglect to tell him the important stuff? "Yes, can you arrange the Mind Healer?"

 

**

 

He doesn't understand. The man wasn't like the others. He didn't yell or hit, or force him on his knees and cast excruciating curses on him. He was soft and warm. He was quiet and didn't hit him when he flinched at the wand.

 

And the wand! It didn't hurt, not really. It only was painful for a second before his bones felt right again.

 

He lets the soft, quiet man dress him in a thin robe. It isn't like the other dresses, not like the ones he wore when he was forced to the meetings. This one was longer, and warmer and covered him all the way to his knees.

 

But why? Why are they doing this to him? He knows, he knows he isn't worthy of it. He knows his place.

 

Maybe... maybe they're just trying to trick him into thinking he means something. Trick him into being bad and disobeying. He won't, he is well taught. They won't catch him out. He will be so, so good.

 

**

 

Harry doesn't understand why Malfoy won't eat.

 

It's just them in the hospital room now, Healer Rhee and Healer Greene left, telling Harry to shout if they're was a problem. There is a problem, but Harry feels this isn't the type of problem the Healer's meant.

 

It isn't as if he isn't hungry. Before he had the robe on, Harry could count all of his ribs and feel Malfoy's bony spine. Even now the robe slips off his shoulders slightly, giving Harry a view of his prominent collarbone.

 

So, Harry doesn't understand why Malfoy refuses to eat the soup. It's not like there is anything wrong with it. Harry tried to give it to him, but Malfoy stared. Now, it sits untouched in Malfoy's lap.

 

Harry doesn't think it is that Malfoy doesn't want it, either. He keeps looking at it out of the corner of his eye when he thinks Harry isn't looking. There is a longing in those grey eyes of his.

 

He needs to get Malfoy to eat, and can only think of one alternative. He lifts a spoonful of soup out of the bowl, blowing on it to make sure it won't burn Malfoy's mouth, and lifts it to his lips. Harry swears Malfoy looks almost relieved, as he leans forwards to take the spoonful of soup.

 

**

 

Harry doesn't want to know what they did to Draco Malfoy to make him into this.


	15. Chapter 15

It had been four days since they had found Malfoy, and Harry was begining to despair.

 

Harry had been at his bedside for almost the entire ninety-six hours, and Malfoy hadn't spoken a word. He had just curled up in the hospital bed, surrounded by blankets, and sucked his thumb. His eyes flickered when someone entered, but other than that he was still, only moving when a Healer asked him to. Harry still had to spoon feed him, for he just refused to feed himself. A Mind Healer had visited, and had found Malfoy impossible to reach. She told Harry that he was in some sort of dissociative state, and would benefit from seeing someone closer to home, like a family member or close friend.

 

But like that could happen. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, and Narcissa Malfoy was on House Arrest, and Draco was technically still a criminal.

 

Kingsley had dropped by once, under the guise of questioning Draco. Of course, Harry had already told him that Malfoy barely reacted to his surroundings, but Kingsley had insisted on coming. Harry had been surprised when Kingsley admitted that he wasn't there to question Draco at all.

 

"I've read his file, Harry. I know he isn't up for questioning. The public hasn't gotten wind of this yet, but they will eventually. I'm here to make an offer: Malfoy is still a Death Eater, and even though he was one of their victims too, people would still call for a trial. St Mungos can't keep him here forever, and then the Ministery would be forced to apprehend him. But, like I said, I'm making an offer. I could arrange for Malfoy to be in your custody until he is mentally healed enough to go to a hearing for his supposed crimes. You can decline if you wish, and Malfoy would be put in the custody of another Auror."

 

Kingsley had given Harry three days to decide, and he had decided yes instantly. The only other person he would of trusted with Malfoy's care was Ron.

 

Speaking of Ron, the red-head stopped by frequently. He sat with Malfoy and forced Harry to go to the bathroom, to go to the canteen and take care of himself. Hermione had come with him once, and had quietly told Harry afterwards that Malfoy spent the hour watching her when he thought she wasn't looking.

 

It was a start, wasn't it?

 

Ron had asked him, one time when they were both sat by Malfoy's bed, why Harry was so determind to watch over Malfoy every second. Harry had just shrugged, not knowing what how to answer. He really didn't, he just needed to.

 

He guessed you could put it to the fact that since the age of eleven, he and Malfoy had been at each other's throats. And now, it was the complete opposite. Malfoy had been broken down and stripped of everything that made him _Malfoy_ , and an empty shell remained. Harry wanted to get Malfoy to what he once was; and if couldn't do that, he at least wanted Malfoy to safe. To be saved.

 

Hermione would've said he had a saviour complex.

 

**

 

He doesn't like the dark much, not anymore. He knows he used to love it. It used to symbolise peace. But now it makes him afraid. And it makes him more afraid that he doesn't know why it makes him so scared.

 

Maybe it was because everything had changed. There was no more Snake, no more Beast, yet it had been like that for a while. There was none of the others, either. No one demanded he get on his knees, no one put _things_ in him, no one dressed him up and told him he was pretty. No one laughed as they tore him apart.

 

There were new people, but these weren't like the others. There was a man with bright orange hair, who sat by his bedside and fiddled with his sleeves. He thinks he may of spoken, once. He can't be sure, he knows he isn't supposed to be listened when they talk. They never talk to him.

 

There was a girl who sat with the orange man once. Her hair was bushy and all over the place. He knows he was staring at her, and for a second their eyes connected. But then he quickly dropped his eyes and didn't move until they left. He didn't move for a while after they left, either. He thought he would've been punished.

 

And then there's the other one. He doesn't know what to make of him. He is soft and warm and doesn't get angry when Draco does something wrong. Which must be often, because he looks sad all the time.

 

In the dark, he watches the man doze off in the chair next to the bed. He thinks he knows him from somewhere, but his mind won't tell him where. Maybe he dreamed him.

 

**

 

Harry wakes to Malfoy's grey eyes staring at him in the dark.

 

"Draco?" He says, shaking his head to full wakefullness. There is a flash of recognition in his eyes, but then he bows his head and the moment is gone.

 

It's small, but it _is_ a start.


	16. Chapter 16

 

Part of him wonders if the Monster's got bored of him and gave him to the soft man. A tiny, tiny part of him thinks that that isn't a bad thing.

 

**

 

"Draco," Harry said slowly, "you're leaving today. They can't keep you here any longer...there's nothing physically wrong with you." Harry's voice almost breaks as he says it, knowing how very not true that was. "You're coming home with me, Kingsley's orders. I'm still trying to let your Mother see you."

 

It's true, he is, but he tells Draco to try to get a reaction. Instead Draco just stares at the floor, sucking his thumb. His other hand is fiddling with the bedsheets in a way that tells Harry just how nervous Draco really is.

 

The muscles in Draco's legs are still to underused for him to be able to walk in a way that isn't painful, so Harry is taking Draco in a wheelchair to the front of the building, where Hermione and Ron are going to pick him up.

 

Hermione got her drivers licence a few weeks ago, and had been ferrying Ron about the muggle world, showing him the muggle sights. Both had insisted that they help in every way they can, and Hermione had suggested taking him back to Grimmauld in her car. Harry had agreed, as he thought Apparating would make Draco sick and flooing would attract too much attention.

 

So, after gently easing Draco into the wheelchair and casting a subtle dissallusion charm, Harry was wheeling Draco through the halls of St Mungos. He keep a close eye on Draco whilst making sure he didn't bump into anyone - the charm wasn't that good - for any sign of distress.

 

Draco just stared at his lap, long blond hair falling in front of his face. He really needed a haircut, Harry thought.

 

**

 

In the car, Draco sits silently. His face is pressed against the glass, condensation dripping down onto his forehead. His hair is in tangles. He flinches slightly whenever another car speeds past, everytime thinking they're going to crash.

 

He wants to ask what's going on, where he's going, but doesn't dare. Their attention isn't on him, and he doesn't dare to make any noise at all, the last think he wants is to remind them of his presence.


	17. Chapter 17

They are choking him. They're holding him down, pinning him in place, hitting and scratching and biting - and they never stop.

 

After being starved for what felt like years, the Beast lets him kneel by his chair as he and his company eat sweet smelling meats. His eyes flicker to the table top, part of him wanting to ask and part of him just wanting to starve until he died.

 

He didn't look down fast enough because the Beast caught him staring. He shudders as the Beast reaches a dirty hand down to grab a chunk of his hair, forcing him to a stand.

 

"You hungry?" He leers. He shakes his head quickly. "I think you're a liar," He says.

 

Tears spring to his eyes, because he knows that tone and it's that tone that makes him scream and try to beg even though his voice is long gone and he doesn't want it hedoesn'tdoesn'tdon'tdon'tpleasepleasepleasepleasenononononono _nononononono_

 

and then a feeling of calm washes over him and he falls into the dark.

 

**

 

Harry shakes Draco's shoulder, trying to snap him from his nightmare. Draco's eyes snap open, and he lets out a screech of pure terror before scrambling sideways off of the bed, landing in a heap and curling into the corner, sobs racking his body.

**

 

Draco sits on the floor with his legs crossed, picking at a lose thread on his robe. Harry can see how tired he is by just looking. He has purplish bruises under his eyes, and keeps blinking himself awake, almost falling asleep. Harry would let him, but he keeps stubbornly refusing to give in.

 

It was the third day of bringing Draco to Grimmauld, and not much had changed. Draco sat quietly wherever Harry put him, sucking his thumb and fiddling with his robes. Draco flinches when someone comes towards him too fast, and still won't eat by himself.

 

The most noise he has heard from Draco's mouth is screams of terror in the dead of night, only to tamper down into sobs and then silence. Harry had had to use calming draughts and spells just to get Draco to move again.

 

**

 

Harry is very tired. He scrubs a hand over his eyes before righting his glasses, turning to the letter that was dropped off with an owl he had never seen before and bearing the official St Mungos seal.

 

"Harry," Ron says, leaning against the door frame. "Why don't you go out for a bit, get some fresh air? Me and 'Mione can watch Malfoy, and 'Mione has her phone thing to call you if something happens."

 

Harry considers it. "I don't want to impose-"

 

"You're not, mate. We said we wanted to help, and we are." Ron reassures him. He may not have a particular liking for Malfoy, but he had seen first hand what he was like now, and he could put two and two together - he wasn't stupid. And no matter how much of a git he was, no one deserved that.

 

He supposed he didn't even hate Malfoy anymore, not really. He just found him slightly creepy - the way he just sat there quietly sucking his thumb. He reminded Ron of a child in a strange sort of way, and Hermione had agreed. While neither of them knew how to help him, they both knew they would be by Harry's side whatever happened.

 

**

 

Harry walked aimlessly. He had no actual direction, he was just letting himself go where his feet took him. He didn't bother to turn back as it started to rain, just let himself get soaked.

 

When he did eventually walk back to Grimmauld Palace, his calm feeling evaporated as he heard a hoarse, croaky voice inside.

 

"P-please!"


	18. Chapter 18

"What's going on?" Harry demanded as he burst through the door to the living room.

 

Draco was curled up in the corner, shaking and making a low keening sound, his earlier words mashed into garbled begging. Hermione was a few paces back speaking softly to him. Ron was kneeling behind her, her phone in his hand with Harry's number half dialled. He turned around as Harry himself came in.

 

"We don't know, mate. We we're just talking and I think he fell asleep, and he woke up and just went nuts!" Ron explained. "Started whimpering and moaning."

 

Hermione nodded, "I can't snap him out of it," She said, and Harry could hear how upset she was.

 

"Let me try," He said, bending down next to her. She stood up and then left the room with Ron, both knowing it would be easier if they weren't present.

 

"Hey, Draco," Harry whispered. Draco didn't look up, just continued his quiet pleas. "I'm here, Draco, I'm here. You're safe, you're safe, no one is going to hurt you," He repeated over and over. It was twenty minutes before Harry noticed that Draco's pleas had stopped.

 

"You're safe, I won't hurt you," He shuffled forward, closer to Draco.

 

_Big mistake._

 

Harry meant to comfort Draco, but in Draco's fear-addled and sleep deprived state, he misread Harry as one of his Monster's. His hands pawed at the man's belt, not understanding why his hands are being grabbed by the wrists - whatisthiswhatwhatwhat

 

"A-am I s-supposed t-to u-use my m-mouth?" He croaked, unused vocal chords barely able to make his speech legitable after such a long silence. He tensed and held his breath, waiting for the slap and the order.

 

Harry could feel Draco's violent trembling through the too-thin wrists he held in one hand. Harry took a breath, willing himself not to cry in front of Draco. He was right, he really didn't want to know what they had done to him.

 

Harry gently laid Draco's hands in his lap, and cupped his gaunt face in his hands. Their eyes met for half a second before Draco dropped his gaze.

 

"I will never make you do that, Draco, okay? You don't have to do that anymore, ever?" He has no idea if Draco is even listening to what he is saying or if he has fallen back into his dazed state, but for now it makes him feel a bit better.

 

He recieves silence from the other boy.

 

**

 

When he is good, they allow him to sleep on the rug next to the bed. When he is bad, they put him in the box. The box is supposed to be the worst, he knows logically it is - except logical thinking abandoned him a long time ago - and sometimes he craves the box. When they force him inside and lock the lock, it means they'll leave him alone. No matter the painful positions that make him cry silently, it means they won't come. There will be no games.

 

But being on the rug means freedom to stretch out and not have his limbs go numb and not get bruises up his sides. But it also means being awakened in the middle of one of their games, waking up to a curse or a beating that leaves him wincing for days after.

 

**

 

The soft man puts him in a bed. The first time he sees it he would've collapsed there and then if he hadn't already been sitting. The first time he slept in the same house as the soft man, he slept on the rug. He tried to bed on the second night and was thrown back to the Monster's for his struggles.

 

But the soft man - he is not a monster. He is.

 

He doesn't quite understand yet.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco isn't quite back yet, he's still locked away in his head. But, Harry knows, it won't be long. They're almost there.

 

**

 

Harry wipes his glasses on his shirt before pushing them back up his nose, cracking open the St Mungos seal.

 

_Dear Mr Potter_

 

_As Mr Malfoy is in your care, I think it prudent to know the results from the DNA test I conducted on the bite make on his left arm. We did not get DNA - however the bite was from a werewolf, and I believe he may have been bitten by Fenrir Greyback._

 

_However, Mr Malfoy was bitten whilst the wolf was in their human form, meaning that he is not a fully-fledged werewolf. Despite this, he will still have some symptoms on the night of the full moon and leading up to it._

 

_Mr Malfoy may say his skin feels too tight and may continually scratch himself (which you may want to look out for as the cuts could get infection or he could open up old scars), he may be unstable and possibly violent._

 

_Encased is a jar of Lupus Lenire - it helps soothe skin irritations near the full moon._

 

_Yours Sincerely,_

 

_Healer Rhee_

 

Harry rubbed at his temples with his forefinger. As if this wasn't a big enough mess already.

 

**

 

Draco sleeps a lot more than Harry knows is normal. He lets him, because don't they all need it?

 

Of course, Harry never knows if Draco is actually sleeping or if he is just waiting for Harry to tell him he can leave the room. He still has to make sure Draco eats, still has to feed him, and make sure he uses his legs. The first times Draco crawled and Harry almost lost his breakfast.

 

Draco still hasn't spoken still his episode two days ago. Harry had talked about it with Ron and Hermione, and neither of them could figure out a clear trigger, except a nightmare. Ron suggested giving him dreamless sleep so he wouldn't wake up sleeping, but Hermione shot down that idea by reminding them that dreamless sleep was addictive.

 

Back to the drawing board.

 

**

 

Whowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou -

 

What are you?

 

Whatwhatwhatwhat...

 

...Help me. Please.

 

**

 

Harry swears he sees a flicker of something in those grey eyes.

 

**

 

Harry doesn't know how Draco's jaw isn't aching by now. He eases the thumb from his mouth, gently wrapping the bandage around it.

 

"You need to keep the thumb from your mouth if you can, Draco. You'll get ulcers, otherwise."

 

Draco's just looked at the carpet, as he had been doing the whole day. Hermione and Ron had left half an hour ago with the promise to drop by tommorow. Hermione had tried talking to Draco, but all he did was stare at the carpet, picking at a lose thread of his robes. He had resumed his previous silence.

 

"C'mon, I made dinner. You must be hungry." He said, helping Draco to stand. Draco leaned most of his weight on Harry as he pulled himself to a stand, though he didn't seem to notice. Harry kept one arm around Draco's shoulders to steady him as he stumbled. Harry had been sticking to the Healers rules about walking on two feet, trying to ignore how distressed Draco seemed when he had first forced him to do it. His steps get less shaky everyday.

 

Harry gently pushed Draco down into a chair and then sat in the chair next to him. He watched as Draco stared at the food, an odd look on his face.

 

Harry wasn't going to feed him this time, he wanted to try something. He reached over and opened Draco's fist, and picked up the fork and placed it against his hand, then closed his fingers over it.

 

Draco stared the fork in his hand, and then glanced at Harry. The fork slipped from his hand onto the table with a clatter. Draco's eyes widened and he gasped.

 

A small, croaky voice whispered: "P-Potter?"


	20. Chapter 20

 

Harry thinks he genuinely might faint when he hears his name from Draco's mouth. Draco reaches out a shaky hand before pulling it away quickly, mouth trying to form other words.

 

"You remember me?" He says softly, not wanting to startle Draco back into his silence. God, no. That's the last thing he wants.

 

"P-Potter?" Draco repeats, clearly confused. And fearful, judging by the look in his eyes. "Wha- I don't- I-I-He-"

 

He tells Draco softly that he is safe, and will always be safe. Then he asks, is there anything you want to talk about?

 

**

 

Draco didn't talk much, even when he was all there. It worries Harry slightly that it is so difficult to get him to talk. One reason is because it hurts, Draco mumbles once. His voice went unused for so long that his words came out croaky and in a stuttered mess, which made his throat hurt more and made him anxious.

 

Another reason was that even though he had woken up from his daze, that does not mean he left behind the mentality that had kept him alive throughout that terrible year. He still needs to get used to the fact that it's okay for him to stutter his way through his sentences, to ask for things and to say yes or no. Even when all of him is there he struggles to know that it is _okay_.


	21. Chapter 21

_He can't do this anymore. He is breaking, and will continue to break if he doesn't get out soon. He thinks of this for hours and hours after the Snake has left, a new set of welts donning his backside. He is curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his skinny frame when he hears a creak._

 

_He is awake instantly. He freezes, thinking one of his Monster's have come back... but that's not it. The door to the room is cracked open, and a sliver of light shines through the gap._

 

_Draco stares. They don't ever leave it unlocked - never ever. This is the first time either have made this mistake. He needs to take this chance. He needs to leave, he can't take anymore, he can't._

 

_Draco uncurls himself from his position on the floor, groaning quietly as his underused calf muscles tremble with effort. He staggers to the door, listening for a few seconds before slowly pulling it open enough for him to slip through._

 

_He staggers down the stairs, wincing with each step he takes. The house is silent. He spots a door and stumbles towards it, almost sobbing as it refuses to open. Of course it is locked, they are far from stupid. Even so, he tries it again and again and again, tears mixed with snot and sweat dripping down his face, hoping in vain that it will be open this time._

 

_He hears an intake of breath behind him and turns in horror, dropping to his knees as he sees the Beast standing across the room leering at him. He knows he will punished for this._

 

_He whimpers as the Beast stalks towards him. He knows that look, and he can't. He doesn't remember being this scared since. He doesn't want to think about it._

 

**

 

He wakes with a scream.

 

Silence.

 

**

 

Harry subtly watches Draco from the corner of his eye as he pretends to be engrossed in his bacon. Draco is holding his own knife and fork, but doing it awkwardly, as if he is still learning how. Harry knows he needs to bring up the subject of Fenrir Greyback and the bite on his arm, but doesn't quite know how.

 

Even when Draco is all there, he is a shell of what he once was. He just sits quietly, gazing around at the room. He still hasn't said a word to anyone other than Harry, or directly asked for anything. When Harry had asked when he had wanted for breakfast he had just shrugged his shoulders, staring at his feet. Harry has also noticed that Draco seems to have a problem saying no.

 

He writes a letter to Narcissa Malfoy, telling her Draco has been found and is safe. He tells her he is trying to get permission from Kingsley for her to be able to see her son, as Narcissa is on house arrest and Harry doesn't think Draco is up for travelling right now.

 

**

 

Draco curls up on the sofa, wrapped in blankets. He is still sucking his thumb, but after last night Harry doesn't have the heart to make him remove it.

 

Harry had been awakened in the middle of the night by a scream from Draco's room. He had jumped from his bed and rushed into Draco's room as fast as his legs could take him. He had found the blond kneel on the floor beside the bed, whimpering and sobbing. His eyes had been open, but Harry could see that he was still trapped inside his nightmare.

 

Harry had stepped closer and Draco had cried out, begging _no, no please, I don't want to, please,_

 

Harry had kneeled on the floor, a metre or so from Draco, and whispered soothing words to him until Draco had quieted, sniveling occasionally. Harry had been able to coax Draco back to bed after about an hour, before creeping back to his own room.

 

So now, when he sees Draco nodding off in the living room, he lets him.

 

**

 

"I thought you would be the best one to handle this, as Malfoy's living here," Ron says as he hands Harry an evidence box.

 

"What does this have to do with Malfoy?" He asks, opening it. He is stopped by Ron's hand on his arm.

 

"Make sure Malfoy doesn't see these. They aren't... they're pretty graphic." Harry stares in him in confusion.

 

"It's a camera, Harry. What they did to Malfoy, it's all on there." Ron looks as ill as Harry feels as he explains.

 

"Those sick bastards..." He mutters. Ron nods mutely.


	22. Chapter 22

Harry waits until Draco has gone to his room before opening the file on his laptop. Harry had wired it up to his new Toshiba, done with a little magic and a lot of muggle. He takes a deep breath before opening the file.

 

The first picture wasn't a moving one, and Harry recognised the leering face of Fenrir Greyback instantly. Fenrir is surrounded by other men of equal stature, and is bent over the body of a thin blond boy, dressed in a yellow dress that barely touches his thighs. Draco's face is screwed up, whether it is in fear or pain Harry doesn't know, though he guesses it is a bit of both.

 

He clicks to the next one, and finds himself as equally horrified. Draco, prostate on the floor, angry red welts running along his thighs up to his backside.

 

Draco, crying between Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, curses being thrown at him by someone out of frame.

 

Draco, dressed up in a green dress with white socks pulled up to his knees, tears running down his face as he chokes around the cock in his mouth.

 

Draco, begging for them to stop.

 

Draco, screaming and crying.

 

Draco, staring blankly at the ceiling above him, long past fighting back.

 

Draco being slowly broken, bit by bit, piece by piece.

 

Harry barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

 

**

 

An hour later, Harry doesn't hear the soft pad of feet on the stairs over the kettle and the pounding in his head. He spoons out enough coffee granuals to successfully keep him up for the rest of the week, let alone the night. He knows he won't be sleeping well after this.

 

He doesn't want to go through them all, but he has to. They can be used for evidence, and, Harry knows that he will need every piece of proof that Draco wasn't working with the Death Eaters. The public would know sooner or later, and Draco would have to have a trial. He doesn't think Draco knows this yet, and needs to tell him soon.

 

He mulled this over as he tiredly made his way back to the living room.

 

He cup of scalding coffee shattered as it hit the wooden floor, the liquid spreading over the floorboards. Harry didn't care.

 

What he cared about was Draco, who was leaning over Harry's laptop, his face as ashen as they day Harry found him. His bottom lip wobbled, and he blinked rapidly. The pictures of his humiliation were open in front of him, spread out for him to see in graphic detail.

 

Harry swallowed. It was going to be a long night.


	23. Chapter 23

Kingsley paced around his office, rereading the article on The Daily Prophet's first page.

 

_**Death Eater son found?** _

 

_Three weeks ago it is rumoured that son of criminal Death Eater Lucius Malfoy was found in a safe house, with three other Death Eaters, Walden MacNair, Corban Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange._

 

_Whether Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater is a subject to be debated on. Malfoy was last seen by students of Hogwarts in 1997, fleeing the school with a group of Death Eaters (including Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback), after Albus Dumbledore's death on the Astronomy Tower. There is no doubt that the young heir played a part in the former Headmaster's death, but there is question as to what he done exactly._

 

_The next time Draco Malfoy was seen was three weeks ago, on June 15 th. He was photographed being carried into St Mungos hospital by none other than Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley was also accompanying them._

 

 

 _It is believed that he left the hospital a week later with Harry Potter, under a disillusion charm. Witnesses say Potter wheeled out a blond boy in a wheelchair, and both got into a_ _muggle car with Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger._

 

_So, what is the truth? Is Malfoy a Death Eater who is escaping prosecution? Or is there something darker to this story?_

 

_~ Rita Skeeter_

 

Kingsley sighed and placed the newspaper on his desk. He had hoped to have more time.

 

**

 

Potter is warm. And very, very soft, Draco thinks as he shifts minutely in his arms. He remembers wanting this, a long time ago. Someone to hold him, and for him to have no fear of it going further.

 

After Draco had seen the pictures, seen everything he hoped to forget, he had cried and cried worse than he ever had whilst he had been punished. He supposes it is because he had tried to pretend, when he finally came back to himself, that he wasn't terrified. He tried to pretend that there was no reason behind his silence, that he didn't have night terrors so horrifying that just thinking about sleep made him nauseaus, that he didn't think he was going to be slapped whenever Potter raised his hand.

 

But then, seeing the pictures, made it so much more _real_. It was impossible to deny everything that had happened when the evidence had been right in front of him.

 

He thinks he should - no, _needs_ \- to talk about it. Part of him _wants_ to and part of him wants to scream just thinking about it.

 

Draco opens his mouth and forces the words out. It is like a floodgate opening.

 

**

 

Harry isn't sure he is hearing correctly at first. This is -

 

it is the most Harry has heard Draco talk since sixth year, all those months ago. It is not just that that is shocking Harry, it is _what_ he is saying.

 

"T-They didn't do t-that at first, you know. The d-dresses. They waited t-to do i-it. V-V-Voldemort and G-Greyback. At f-first they j-just hurt me, b-but I guess t-they w-wanted to r-really r-ruin me. T-that's when the p-parties s-started. I-I n-never unders-stood w-why they h-hated me _s-so much_."

 

He closes his eyes, feeling drained by just the small revelation.

 

All Harry can think to say back is the reassurance that he was okay now, that no one would ever hurt him again.

 

**

 

Knowing isn't the same as believing.


	24. Chapter 24

Logically, he knows he isn't in the safe house. Logically, he knows he is in Harry Potter's dining room, and can hear the sounds of Harry cooking and can smell of bacon from the kitchen.

 

Logically, he also knows that the mugshot staring back at him is just a photo, that it can't hurt him.

 

But the less logic side, the side that kept him alive throughout that year, is taking over. It is leaving him frozen in his chair, unable to push the newspaper away or even close his eyes. It is leaving him unable to fight against the panic welling in his chest.

 

The face of Rabastan Lestrange leers at him, alongside Yaxley and Macnair. He knows the expressions on their faces. Those expressions mean...

 

They mean passing out between them and waking up to a curse, they mean a beating so bad he can't move for days afterwards, it means choking on a cock, it means blood running down his legs, it means being dressed up and called pretty, it means-

 

"Draco?" He barely hears his name over the sound of his blood rushing past his ears. He desparately sucks in a breath, forcing air into his lungs. It feels like someone has wrapped their hands around his throat and is squeezing hard. He blinks rapidly, feeling hot tears escape his eyes and run down his cheeks.

 

And then the newspaper is being moved out of his line of sight, taking Rabastan and the other's leering faces away with it.

 

"Draco, you're safe, focus on my voice, you're not there, you're here, with me, you're safe..." He repeats it over and until Draco's breathing returns to normal, although the panicked look is still in those grey eyes of his.

 

He opens his mouth, swallowing, before asking; "W-what a-are - why are th-they?" He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. Harry knows what Draco is asking.

 

He skims over the article, picking out words rather than sentences. "When we found you, they were there. I guess they must be having a trial or -" He abrubtly stops when he turns a page and sees a picture of him carrying a sickly Draco Malfoy into St Mungos, Ron at his side. Draco's face is mostly hidden by the blanket, but a tuft of white-blond hair sticks out. The caption underneath reads: _"Harry Potter carrying Draco Malfoy into St Mungos, with Auror partner and best friend Ronald Weasley."_

 

And then there's another picture of him wheeling Draco out of St Mungos. Although both had disillusioning charms on them, Hermione and Ron hadn't and were recognised.

 

He wants to curse, but knows that would startle Draco, so just settles for clenching his fist. Fucking Rita Skeeter.

 

"H-Harry?" Draco asks, clearly seeing the change in his body language. Harry exhales, attempting to calm himself.

 

"I'm fine Draco, I'm just angry at them. For what they did."

 

Draco runs his fingers over his robes, a nervous gesture of sorts. "They w-weren't the w-worst." He forces himself to say it, wanting to tell _someone_. Not everything, no - never everything -, but he wanted someone to relate to.

 

Harry doesn't interrupt him, just pulls out a chair and lets him talk.

 

"They c-came after. They w-weren't n-nicer, b-but there w-wasn't as m-much effort. V-Voldemort and Greyback, th-they really wanted to wr-wreck me. B-but them? Th-they were just b-bored, and I w-was just th-there! For the t-taking!" He flinches at his own anger as he finishes, dropping his face into his hands.

 

"That doesn't make it your fault, Draco. You had been conditioned to not fight back."

 

"I kn-know, b-but it doesn't m-make it a-a-any _easier_." He takes his hands from his face and places them into his lap. A silence falls between them. Harry decides it is now or never.

 

"Draco, there's something I have been meaning to speak to you about," He starts gently. Draco tenses. "when you were being examined, one of the Healer's noticed a bite mark over the, uh, Dark Mark." Draco twists his fingers nervously, getting more anxious by the second. He knows exactly where this conversation is going.

 

"One of the Healer's took a DNA sample, and it came back as a werewolf in their human form." Fenrir. The Beast.

 

 _Make me a monster._ He swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn't deny what Harry is saying. It would be pointless.

 

"The Healer sent me a jar of this stuff called Lupus Lenire. It helps soothe skin irritations leading up the full moon. I don't know if you have already gone through a full moon, but it's what the Healer suggested."

 

Draco nods. "Wh-when?"

 

"Around the eighth of August. So a couple of weeks."

 

He nods, and then fiddles with his robes. "M-may I be excused?"

 

Harry sighs, "You don't have to ask, Draco."

 

Draco is out of his chair before Harry can finish, almost running to the door. Harry runs a hand through his hair, chewing at his bottom lip.

 

Maybe he should contact the Mind Healer. Draco _clearly_ wanted to talk, but Harry wasn't a professional. As much as he hates to admit it, he doesn't know how to help Draco.

 

A tap on the window breaks his train of thought, and he opens the curtains to see a barn owl pecking at the glass, a letter tied to its leg. Harry lets it in, stroking the birds feathers. Harry doesn't know who it's from, but he knows the owl isn't a threat, as the wards wouldn't of let it in otherwise.

 

He unknots the letter from the owls leg and reads it through. Then, he swears loudly and kicks a nearby chair.

 

He thought he would have had longer than this.

 

**

 

Draco stumbles to his room, collapsing onto the bed and curling up in the sheets. He doesn't want to think about the conversation, but he can't help it, not with the ugly mark on his arm. A sign of ownership, to both his Monster's.

 

He curses quietly, more tears dribbling down his face and into the pillows below. He doesn't want to think of either of them, ever again. But he can't help it, not when he sees their sneering faces whenever he closes his eyes.

 

**

 

Harry firecalls Ron and Hermione. He needs their help.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry strode purposely through the Ministry of Magic with Ron at his side, ignoring the awed looks he was getting from other witches and wizards. Only the furious look on his face kept them from swamping him with question. Even so, he felt the flash of multiple cameras. He glared at every single one of them.

 

When they got the Minister's office, the receptionist gasps at the sight of Harry Potter.

 

"Mr Potter! What a delight-!" She gushes.

 

"Is Shaklebolt in?" Harry interrupts. He has no patience today.

 

"Yes, I beli-" Harry bursts into Kingsley's office before the receptionist can finish. Ron throws her an apologetic look over his shoulder.

 

Inside his office, Kingsley looks just as tired as Harry feels. He looks entirely unsurprised to see them and gestures for them to sit.

 

"What do you mean Draco's trial is schelduled for next week?!" Harry exclaims once he is sitting. Kingsley sighs wearily.

 

"I mean that due to recent events, Draco has a trial schelduled for next week. I put it back as far as I could, Harry. The Wizengamot will not let me put it off any longer." He explains.

 

"But Draco isn't ready for a trial, Kingsley! He can barely talk to me at time, no way can he talk in front of a court."

 

"I know, which is why I have gathered a suitable amount of defence for Draco's case, so that he may not have to even speak. Lestrange, Yaxley and Macnair talked while under veritiserum. They confessed exactly what You-Know-Who did to Draco."

 

"You can call him Voldemort, you know." Harry reminded him.

 

"I'd like to stand at his trial." Ron says suddenly, surprising them both. Ron had come for moral support, Harry didn't expect him to actually want to stand at Draco's trial.

 

"Why?" Kingsley asked.

 

"I was there when Harry found him, and... I know he isn't well. He may have been a git but he doesn't deserve Azkaban."

 

**

 

Draco pretends to read a book when Hermione comes over. It's called Dracula, and he had been reading it properly but by chapter four it had hit a little too close to home. Harry and Ron went out somewhere, and left him with her. He doesn't mind her, not really, just finds it a little unnerving being with someone who isn't Harry. He thinks he should be worried about how dependant he is on Harry, but can't bring himself to be.

 

Hermione is doing paper work of a sort, and keeps glancing over at him. She isn't being as subtle as she thinks she is. It's starting to make him uncomfortable, but he doesn't complain. He isn't even sure if he would be able to get his words out around her.

 

They sit in silence until Hermione gets up, muttering about making some tea. Draco waits until he hears the kitchen door go, and then curiosly slides a sheet of Hermione's neatly organised paperwork over to him. His eyes widen as he reads it.

 

_Draco's defence:_

 

_-Was underage when took the Dark Mark_

 

_-Was threatened and manipulated by Voldemort throughout 1996-7_

 

_-Sexual abuse, torture._

 

_-The pictures_

 

_\- clear symptoms of PTSD_

 

_\- Didn't kill Dumbledore_

 

_\- Pensive memories (D, Lestrange + others)_

 

_\- Medical records, dissociative state_

 

Draco pushes the sheet away from him, staggering from the room and up the stairs. There was only one reason he could think of that would need him to have a defence, and he couldn't bare thinking about it.

 

**

 

Hermione set the teacups onto a small table, debating whether to bring one up for Draco, who she had heard stumbling up the stairs. She notices his book lying open on the couch, and then notices the way her notes are messy and unorganised.

 

_Oh, Draco._


	26. Chapter 26

"Harry," Hermione says, voice quiet. Two teacups sit on the table, one untouched and one empty. "you did tell Draco why you left, didn't you?"

 

"No, did something happen?" He asked, instantly concerned. Hermione sighed.

 

"Not anything huge, but I think you need to explain to him in _detail_ what is happening." She emphasized. "I was working on arguements for his defence and he saw my notes. I don't know how much he realises, but we both know Draco Malfoy isn't stupid."

 

Harry nods, taking in her words. He had intended to tell Draco about the sudden trial, but hadn't had the time. And part of him hoped tht if he spoke to Kingsley then the trial could be post-poned.

 

Hermione seemed satisfied, and gave Harry one last hug before flooing back to her and Ron's flat.

 

Harry waited thirty seconds before telling himself not to be an idiot and just go and tell Draco. He he crept up the darkened staircase, he thought of things to say.

 

_"Hey, sorry I forgot to tell you this really important event that you legally have to attend!"_

 

No, that wouldn't do. He would just have to roll with it.

 

He knocked on Draco's bedroom door, and waited for an answer. All he got was silence. He knocked again and got the same result.

 

"Draco, I'm coming in, alright?" He waited a few seconds before easing the door open.

 

The room was dark, but not so bad that he wouldn't make out Draco's form, curled up on the bedcovers. He was breathing evenly, and Harry was about to leave and come back later when Draco turned and stared at him.

 

"Uh, " Harry starts, "I came to apologise." Draco simply continued to stare at him. He perches awkwardly on the end of Draco's bed.

 

"I was at the Ministry because you have a trial next week. I should have told you before, when I first got the letter. Hermione told me that you saw her notes... So, um, sorry." He finishes lamely.

 

Draco just rolled back over, curling his fingers in the strands of his long hair. Harry made to get up and leave, and Draco flung out his hand and grasped his wrist.

 

"The trial. T-Tell me. Details." Draco sounded in pain as he forced the words out.

 

"They have confessions from Lestrange, Macnair and Yaxley. They confessed under Veritiserum. Hermione was going over arguements for your innocence, and Ron is going to take the stand. Your consent is needed, obviously, but Kingsley suggested the pictures. It would help, because it's hard evidence, but you should think it-"

 

"No!" Draco almost shouted, breathing suddenly ragged. "Not the p-pictures. I-I'm not c-consenting."

 

"Okay," Harry said calmly. "I get your decision, but I'm waiting to tell Hermione, just as a precaution."

 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "Will I h-have to face them?" He shudders at the mere thought. He is very grateful that Voldemort and Greyback were long dead.

 

"No, they'll be behind screens the entire time. You will never face to see them again."

 

Draco loosened his grip on Harry wrist, but instead of letting go he entwined his fingers with Harry's, squeezing his hand.

 

Harry squeezed back.


	27. Chapter 27

The thud of footsteps is enough to make him wail in terror. He pressed himself into the corner of the room, hoping that the footsteps would pass. They only got closer and closer and closer and closer. Seeing the door creak open is enough to make him want to die. They're both standing on the other side, leering at them with pearly-white and yellowing teeth. The Snake takes a step inside the room, the Beast following.

 

**

 

Draco wakes with a scream.

 

**

The four of them sat at the dining room table, mugs of untouched tea in front of each of them. Hermione was acting as Draco's spokesperson at the trial, and Ron was preparing for what he was going to say when he took the stand. Harry wasn't allowed to take the stand, as the Wizengamot believed he would be biased, but he was a witness to Albus Dumbledore's death. So far, Draco hadn't said a word, just stared down at the tabletop and let their words wash over him.

 

"So, we have that you were underage when you took the mark, and that you were being manipulated and threated by Voldemort-" He can barely contain a flinch at the casual way Hermione says the name. "- and then we have the confessions by Lestrange and the others." Draco stares at the floor, looking just as miserable as he feels.

 

"But," Ron cuts in. "we're not sure if it'll be enough. The Wizengamot might rule the evidence unfit as it came from Death Eaters. So we'd be back at square one."

 

Harry rubs his eyes under his glasses. "This a nightmare." He mutters. Draco silently agrees.

 

"What else can we give? We're all going to be under Veritiserum, even the Death Eaters. How can they rule it as unfit?"

 

Hermione sighs, tugging a lock of her frizzy hair. "The Ministry wouldn't know the meaning of a fair trial if it slapped them in the face. That's why we need as much evidence as we possible can, because as it's a public trial, if the Ministry is unfair we would at least have some people on our side."

 

Draco's insides clenched in dread at the words 'public trial'. He had known, he had to, but knowing didn't make it easier. Just the thought of the public knowing everything that had happened to him, having all of his painful secrets spread out for the greedy public eye, made him want to be sick.

 

He is so wrapped up in his thoughts that it takes him a minute to realise that the trio have stopped talking, and that all three are looking at him. He glances at Harry.

 

"Hermione asked about the pictures," He said. Draco swallowed.

 

"N-no." Both Ron and Hermione blink at him in surprise. He worries that he should of just quietly agreed when he remembers that this is the first time he has willingly spoken if front of them since sixth year.

 

Hermione sighs again. "I understand, but it really would help. It's hard evidence of what they did."

 

Draco squeezes his eyes sut for a moment and when he opens them he finds Harry looking at him with concern.

 

"I-I j-just," He stops as he realises that he doesn't know what to say.

 

"It's fine," Hermione says, "don't worry. We'll find another way."

 

Draco goes back to staring at the carpet.

 

**

 

Much later when Hermione and Ron had left, Draco finds himself curled up on the sofa with Harry. The T.V, as Harry calls it, is on. There's some strange show which Harry explains as a muggle cop show, but with aliens. The only thing Draco notices about it is that the woman has red hair.

 

Draco gnaws on his thumb nail as he works up the courage to ask Harry a question, and a request. The question wouldn't be so bad, but he is worried about the request.

 

"Harry," He starts. Harry presses a button on the remote and the T.V goes silent, but it stays on. For some reason it's harder to say when Harry is looking at him, even if there is nothing by kindness and patience in his eyes.

 

"I-I was w-wondering, about the p-pictures." He says slowly. "Would I-I have to s-see them?" His logic behind the request is flawed, and he knows it is slightly pathetic. If he doesn't have to see them, then he can act as if no one else knows.

 

It's stupid logic.

 

"Well, I don't see why you would. If you were behind a screen as well, or if the judges saw them beforehand - I don't see why you would have to." Harry can easily arrange something. He is their saviour, after all.

 

"A-and I w-wanted to kn-know, c-could I s-see my p-parents?"

 

Harry looks upset, and Draco wonders if he has crossed the line.

 

"I wish you could. Your dad's in jail, and your mum's on house arrest. I've been trying to get them to at least let you see Narcissa, but they won't let you until after the trial. Sorry, Draco."

 

Draco shrugs, trying not to feel terribly disappointed. He knows he is lucky they're alive.

 

"Can I ask you something?" Draco pauses, and then nods. He has no idea what Harry would need to ask _him_ for.

 

"Do you want me to arrange a Mind Healer? It's just, I think it might be good for you."

 

Draco fixes his eyes on the T.V screen, where the red-haired woman was looking exasperated as she talked to a man. "I-I d-don't think I-I'd be able to g-get my w-words out a-around an-anyone else." It had been hard enough talking around Hermione and Weasley.

 

"I don't think you'd have to talk. It's just that I want to help you, but I'm not a professional."

 

The woman was rolling her eyes at him now. "You _are_ helping," He insists.

 

"I know, but I'm not an expert in like, trauma and things. I just think it benefit you, but you don't have to."

 

"I-I'll think a-about it." Draco says, which is just a politer way of saying 'I'll say no at a later date.'

 

Still, Harry seems happier.

 

**

 

He doesn't sleep that night, his mind too plagued with monsters formed from the shadows of his room.


	28. Chapter 28

Having the trial hang over his head did nothing for his health, mental or physical. He was constantly paranoid, struggling to keep the thought of his monsters out of his head. He couldn't sleep at all. Draco found it oddly ironic that when he had been in that room for hours and even days at a time, he had done nothing but sleep. But now that he was completely safe, sleep refused to come.

 

This was his third sleepless night, and he was exhausted. He layed on his bed in the dark, willing himself to sleep. He layed awake for hours and hours, tossing and turning before giving up as the sun had started to stream through his window.

 

**

 

_It is a party night, and he knows he is to be the entertainment._

 

_The Beast tips his head back as he forces another one of the vile liquids down his throat. He swallows without complaint, already trembling. The Beast licks his lips at the sight of him, dressed in a lilac dress which barely covers his crotch._

 

_Draco's throat tightens in fear._

 

**

 

"It might help if you take a sleeping draught, or dreamless sleep." Harry suggested over breakfast. Draco froze, spoon half way to his mouth.

 

"N-no."

 

"I think it might help, because I know your not -"

 

"I said no!" He snapped, and then violently flinched. "I'm s-sorry I d-didn't - I d-don't-"

 

Harry looked startled. "Whoa, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, you're safe,"

 

Draco dropped his head into his hands, breathing uneven.

 

He hated this. He hated how he struggled to say no, how even if he knew he was safe, the fear still lingered. He was _exhausted_.

 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't of pushed you," Harry sounded so sincere that Draco wanted to cry. It wasn't Harry's fault, not at all. He was only trying to help.

 

The thought of being drugged, no matter how different it was to the potions Fenrir gave him, made his blood run cold. But he couldn't tell Harry this, because then he would have to tell him what happened at those parties. What he did at those parties, and that was something he never wanted Harry to know.

 

Maybe that Mind Healer wouldn't be so bad after all.


	29. Chapter 29

The morning before the trial, Draco was a wreck. He had had a nightmare in the early hours of the morning, which had lead to a panic attack. By the time he had managed to get his breathing under control, they time both were wide awake, so Harry busied himself making them both breakfast, whilst trying to keep a steady stream of conversation between them to take Draco's mind off his trial.

 

It hadn't worked very well. Draco had eaten only a few bites of his breakfast before running to the bathroom and throwing it back up.

 

"I can't do this," He cried as he leaned his head on the toilet seat, too exhausted to even hold himself up. "I _can't_ ,"

 

Harry sat down opposite him. "I think you can. I think that you're just nervous, which is understandable. But the longer you try to put it off, the worse it's going to get."

 

"B-But what i-if I panic? I c-can't go,"

 

"I can give you a calming draught, if you like. Even then, Hermione is going to be with you. I'll be with you two once I've said my bit."

 

"B-But it's a p-public trial! E-Everyone who has e-ever h-hated m-me is g-going to be th-there!" He sobbed.

 

"People don't hate you as much as you think, you know."

 

Draco raised his head and stared at him. "W-Why not?"

 

Harry shrugged. "After the war people moved on, started hating the actual terrible people. They don't hate you just because of some stuff you did when you were a kid."

 

"I w-would h-hate me, if I-I was them." Draco said quietly.

 

Harry swallowed. "Yeah, but you're not them, are you?"

 

"I g-guess not."

 

"So, what do you say I get you a calming draught and we go meet Ron and Hermione?"

 

After a full agonising minute, Draco nodded.

 

**

 

Draco was gripping Harry's hand so hard it was starting to ache. Not that Harry would tell him that, though. He kept his eyes on the floor as Harry guided him through the Ministry, flanked by Ron and Hermione. People stopped and stared, of course. Harry Potter holding hands with Draco Malfoy wasn't a normal occurrence.

 

"Right," Hermione said, voice low so only they would hear, "Harry is taking the stand first, so you sit on the end of the row, Ron, sit next to Harry. Me and Draco will be at the front and will sit together. Draco, you won't have to talk, so try not to worry." Hermione had clearly run over the courth proceedings multiples times, needing everything to be perfect.

 

Albiet reluctantly, Draco let go of Harry's hand and let Hermione lead him to their seats, right at the front. Across the courtroom there were three screens set in place, and Draco's breath caught in his throat as he realised. They were here. Only a few metres away, hidden by a thin plaster board. They were so _close_.

 

"Just breathe," Hermione whispered. He kept his eyes on the desk as the Judge, an elderly male wizard that Draco didn't recognise, banged the gavel. He closed his eyes for a second as he felt the flash and heard the click of multiple cameras.

 

"We are here today for the trial of suspected Death Eater Draco Malfoy. The charges brought against Mr Malfoy read as such: Willingly accepting the Dark Mark, willingly letting known Death Eaters and fugitives into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardy, attempting to murder Albus Dumbledore, being an accessory to Albus Dumbledore's murder, conspiring to murder Albus Dumbledore, conspiring against the Ministry." The Judge read out.

 

Draco could feel hundreds of judging eyes on him. He fiddled with a lose thread of his robe.

 

"As Defendant, I call Harry James Potter to the stand!"

 

Harry walked confidently to the chair, but didn't sit. The judge didn't seem to be surprised by this.

 

"Mr Potter, can you confirm to the courtroom that you witnessed the death of former Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? And under what circumstances?"

 

"I can. Dumbledore and me had just arrived back at Hogwarts from a mission, which is to remain classified. As soon as we landed Dumbledore stunned me and hid me, one floor under the final balcony of the Astronomy Tower. From there I saw everything."

 

"Can you tell what Draco Malfoy did on the Astronomy Tower?"

 

"He disarmed Dumbledore using expelliarmus. And then they talked for a few minutes."

 

"What did they say?"

 

"Draco Malfoy was being threatened by Voldemort." There were gasps around the courtroom. "Voldemort had threatend to murder his Mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had he not complied. Dumbledore had offered Draco sanctury with his Mother, and Draco had lowered his wand." Harry went on.

 

"If Mr Malfoy lowered his wand, then how did Headmaster Dumbledore die?"

 

"Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore."

 

"Mr Potter, judging by what you saw that evening, do you believe Draco Malfoy ever acted willingly under the Dark Lord?"

 

"Not once." Harry said, before the judge banged the gravel.

 

The Accuser, a woman Draco didn't recognise, walked to the chair, and stared Draco down with a sneer on her face. Draco shrank down into his chair. He was very glad he had taken that calming draught, no matter how much he hadn't wanted to.

 

"You say Mr Malfoy" She said the name with distaste, "acted unwillingly. Was he under the imperious curse?"

 

Harry glared at her. "Not that I am aware of, no."

 

"So how did he not act willingly?" She smiled with faux sweetness.

 

"He was being threatened throughout his Sixth Year at Hogwarts. I would hardly call being threatened 'willing'."

 

"But why didn't he go to Albus Dumbledore for help sooner?"

 

"He was being _threatened_." Harry repeated.

 

The judge banged the gravel, and Harry returned back to his seat, but not before giving Draco a reassuring smile.

 

The Accuser, however, remained standing. "But if that's true and he never acted willingly, then why did he continue to remain with Death Eaters once Albus Dumbledore had been murdered? Why didn't he leave?" She addressed the crowd.

 

Hermione stood, and made her way to the chair, also choosing not to sit in it.

 

"Draco Malfoy remained with the Death Eaters and Voldemort because he had no choice in the matter. As punishment," Hermione turned to face the crowd, making sure they ere hanging on to her every word, "he was subjected to inhumane torture and was found by Ronald Bilius Weasley and Harry James Potter on the eighteenth of June, so damaged he was almost unrecognisable."

 

The crowd rioted. Draco squeezed his eyes tight shut as he attempted to block out the shouts from the audiences. He felt the hot flash of cameras from all directions, and dug his nails into his thigh, forcing his mind to stay in the present. He couldn't let himself slip, not here.

 

"Order!" The judge yelled, banging the gravel once more. "I will have silence in my courtroom!" The noise didn't die down completely, but it must of been quiet enough because the judge gestured at Hermione to continue.

 

"As my witness to this, I bring forth Healer Soo-mi Rhee."

 

Healer Rhee, who Draco could only vaguely remember, sat in the chair.

 

"Healer Rhee, can you confirm for the courtroom when you first saw Draco Malfoy?"

 

"On the eighteenth of June, 1998." Healer Rhee said.

 

"And how would you describe Mr Malfoy's state?" Hermione asked.

 

"Well, battered is one word. He was completely dissociated, he didn't seem to know what was going on. He wasn't aware of his surroundings"

 

"And can you tell the courtroom Mr Malfoy's physical state?"

 

"I have a list, from his medical records. To start with he was severly malnourished and was starving; he had broken ribs, likely from being beaten by mulitple people multiple times, and had all fingers and thumb on his left hand broken some time before, as they had set wrongly. He had whip marks over his back, some infected, and over his buttocks. He had sever third degree burns on the bottoms of both feet, caused by a metal object like a poker. He reacted negatively to my wand, and he was very shaky overall, so likely had been put under the cruciatus curse for long periods of time. And-" Healer Rhee took a deep breath, and Draco did the same. He knew exactly was what coming.

 

"You'll be fine, Draco." Harry whispered from the row behind him.

 

"He had anal tearing, and scars around his rectal area. Some were very old, and some were very new. He had likely been raped repeatedly, and had objects forced into his rectum multiple times."

 

The courtroom exploded again. The judge banged the gravel, but it didn't silence them this time. Draco kept his eyes shut as the voices only got louder and louder, and couldn't stop the tears that dribbled down his face. His breathing was becoming uneven, and he couldn't do anything to calm himself down.

 

The judge banged the gravel again. "Recession! Rejoin in thirty minutes!"

 

Harry rushed from his seat, pushing past people to reach Draco. Ron was behind him, and Hermione was already there. They stood in front of him, trying to shield him from the cameras as much as they could.

 

"Draco, c'mon, focus on my voice, open your eyes, it's Harry," But Draco didn't open his eyes. He pressed the heels on his hands into his eyes, trembling all over. Even with his eyes tight shut he could feelt the flash of hundreds of cameras.

 

"Okay, Draco." Harry said softly, "I'm going to touch your arm now, because I'm going to Apparate you away for a bit. Okay?"

 

Draco felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, and then they vanished, leaving the whispers of the courtroom behind them.


	30. Chapter 30

Harry couldn't Apparate them very far, due to Ministry regulations, so took them to a small, empty office a fifteen minute walk from the courtroom.

 

He helped Draco into a chair and stayed with him, staying with him throughout his panic attack. He kept up a light stream of conversation, trying to distract him. He had had panic attacks before, of course he had, one doesn't defeat the Dark Lord without some consequences. When he had had panic attacks, Ron or Hermione, and once Ginny, had been there to help calm him down. They had been there to help, so he felt obliged, as a friend, to help Draco through his own.

 

It took around twenty minutes for Draco to finally look up at Harry with a tearful gaze. He scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away his tears.

 

"How l-long till i-it starts a-again?" He mumbled. Harry checked his watch.

 

"'bout ten minutes."

 

Draco leaned back in his chair, the miserable expression staying on his face. "Everyone saw." He said resignedly. Harry wasn't going to try to lie to him. He'd tried to keep things from him twice, both times with disastrious results.

 

"Yeah, " He said. "but, this is the Daily Prophet. Maybe I should run through West Minster nude to take the attention off of you," He says casually.

 

Draco splutters, and for a second Harry worries that he's said the wrong thing, yet then he realises that Draco is laughing.

 

It sounds different than it did when they were in school, less controlled and more honest. It was a nice sound one that Harry decided he would like to hear more of.

 

"The papers w-would love that."

 

Harry snickered. "I think Rita Skeeter would faint on the spot."

 

A thump on the door broke them out of their easygoing conversation.

 

"Harry, are you in there?" Hermione said through the door.

 

"Just a minute, 'Mione." Harry called back before turning to Draco. "Are you. . .okay?" He knew Draco wasn't okay, not really.

 

"I'm fine." Draco lied. The easy feeling he had moments before was quickly being replaced by a sickening dread. It was the same sort of dread that had bubbled deep in his stomach whenever he heard the creak of a stair, the thud of footsteps. The dread that he had been trying to distance himself from, but to no avail.

 

"Come in,"

 

Hermione came in with Ron, holding her papers to her chest. She smiled reassuringly.

 

"The trial is going well," She told him.

 

"Well?" Draco repeated dully. It didn't _seem_ well.

 

Hermione seemed to understand. "It might not seem like it, but this is going in your favour. The most difficult parts are over. I came to tell you, you need to come back now. They're about to start again." Hermione gave them both one last smile before she ad Ron disappeared with a crack.

 

Harry held his arm out to Draco, and then they vanished after them.

 

**

 

"The Judge brings to the stand, Ronald Bilius Weasley." The judge banged the gravel.

 

Ron sat in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. He looked just like Harry had, confident and at ease.

 

"So, Mr Weasley, could you confirm for the court the very first time you saw Draco Malfoy?"

 

"The very first?" Ron frowned. "Well, that would've been in September 1991."

 

"And what was your relationship like?" Ron's frown deepened.

 

"Not good, we were in different houses and didn't get on."

 

 _Understatement_ , Draco thought to himself.

 

"And after your Sixth year at Hogwarts, when Mr Malfoy let Death Eaters onto the grounds and was indirectly responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore, when was the next time you saw him?"

 

Ron's eyes narrowed. "June eighteenth, 1998."

 

"What would you describe him as when he was recovered from the safe house?"

 

"Blank, to be honest. He didn't acknowledge what was going on around him, didn't know who me and Harry were. He was terrified, though."

 

"Do you believe that Mr Malfoy ever was part of the Death Eaters, despite having the Dark Mark?"

 

"Not even for a second. I've seen Death Eaters, and he isn't one of them." Ron insisted. The Judge banged the gravel and Ron returned to his seat.

 

Although he knew it had been coming, it was still a surprise to hear Ronald Weasley defending him so adamantly, after all he had done to him - all the trio, really - in school.

 

The Accuser stepped forward, and Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. She was wearing a malevolent smirk, and flashed Draco with it as she walked leisurely up to the stand.

 

"So, his medical records say that he was tortured. However, this boy, is a Slytherin and a Malfoy, and the Malfoy's hardly have a good record of truths, do they? What's to say he simply didn't do it to himself?"

 

Hermione jumped to her feet. "Speculation!"

 

The Judge banged the gravel. "Sustained."

 

It was Hermione's turn to take to the stand again. "As the Accuser speculated, some may believe that Draco Malfoy's long list of injuries were self-inflicted. I have witnesses to prove that theory wrong. All witnesses who speak are under Veritiserum, and have been concealed for the benefit of the victim. Judge,"

 

The Judge banged the gravel. "Witness number one, state your name and affiliation."

 

From behind one of the the stands, a deep gravelly voice began to speak. "Corban Yaxley. Death Eater under Lord Voldemort's reign."

 

"Yaxley," Hermione said, "did you ever see Draco Malfoy after June 30th, 1997."

 

The voice hesitated. "A few times."

 

"When?"

 

"The dates are all different, but from August 1997 to June 1998."

 

"Please, explain for us what circumstances did you see Draco Malfoy from August 1997 to June 1998."

 

"At parties. Death Eater parties. From August to when my Lordship was murdered-" Someone snorted from the back row. "-The Dark Lord would bring him out as entertainment."

 

"Entertainment?" Hermione pushed. Draco stared at the desk beneath him, eyes swimming.

 

_Do not break, do not break, do not break_

 

"Yeah, when the meeting was over and the Dark Lord left, he would sometimes leave the boy with us. Give us some fun. There were no limits on what we could do, as long as he didn't die."

 

Even though Draco couldn't see the speaker, each word struck a knife into his chest.

 

The Accuser stepped forward. "When you say 'no limits', I am assuming you mean things of a sexual nature?"

 

"Yes,"

 

"Do Mr Malfoy ever orgasm whilst at these parties?"

 

Draco's face turned a deep red, and he forced himself to suck in a breath. There were some things he wanted to keep secret for ever and ever, and this was one.

 

And here it was, being layed out for the world to see.

 

"A few times, when he had been given a potion. Always terrified him, though. He hated it more when he got off on it than when he didn't. It was mainly Voldemort and Greyback who did shit to him, dressed him up and whatnot." Yaxley added.

 

Draco could swear the Accuser looked almost _disappointed._

 

"And of course, I have more physical evidence. There were photos, taken mostly by the late Fenrir Greyback and those in his pack," Hermione pointed out.

 

The crowd gasped again, and Draco knew exactly what they were seeing. He couldn't see them himself, of course, but knew what photos had been chosen. The most degrading ones. The ones with them or things inside him, the ones where he was dressed up like a doll, the ones where he was sobbing between them.

 

The Judge banged the gravel once more, and Draco almost flinched at its suddenness.

 

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, brings the trial of Draco Malfoy to an end. Another recession will be held tommorow to decide the verdict."

 

And like that, it was over.

 

**

 

Not really over, of course. People still had to leave, and reporters were shouting at him from the back of the room, wanting the best scoop. As for Draco, he stayed where was and let them leave, oblivious to their wants.

 

A hand on his shoulder made him almost jump out of his skin. He spun in his chair to find Harry looking at him guiltily.

 

"Sorry, shouldn't of done that. Do you want to wait for them to leave or just push through?" Draco glanced at the steady throng of people and shook his head. He didn't want to have to walk out in front of everybody, he just wanted to vanish into the air. He didn't want to have to face everybody, ot after everyone knew the endless list of degrading things that had been done to him.

 

"Do you want me to Apparate us?"

 

Draco just reached for Harry's arm and curled his fingers around his jacket. He barely felt the sickening feeling as they disappeared.

 

**

 

Draco stumbled upstairs to his bedroom without a word. He didn't want to talk, or even see anyone right now. Harry seemed to understand, as he let Draco go up without questioning him.

 

Draco collapsed onto his bed, pulling the duvet around him close. He didn't want to sleep, not after today, but he was so tired, and the bed was so comfortable. . .

 

**

 

It was not dreamless.


	31. Chapter 31

They are coming. The stairs are creaking. The floorboards thud with each step his walking nightmare takes.

 

**

 

Draco looks between Lord Voldemort and Fenrir Greyback and prays for death.

 

**

 

Draco hadn't slept for hours, and he was exhausted. It was sort of ironic, in a sick sort of way, that when he had been a prisoner he would of done anything to sleep at times, literally anything, or would do nothing but sleep. Yet now when he was finally safe, sleep refused to come.

 

**

 

Draco pretended not to notice as Harry slipped the newspaper under the table. He had seen the title of the article and simply refused to look at it. Just because his secrets had become public knowlede, didn't mean he had to acknowledge it.

 

They had to be at the Ministry at lunch time to be there for the verdict. If he wasn't found guilty then he would be a free man. If not then he would be sentenced to Azkaban, and it was something that didn't bare thinking about.

 

He was hungry, but couldn't bring himself to eat anything. He knew Harry would probably make him later, but for now he wanted to accept his fate with dignity, not covered in a sicked-up breakfast.

 

There was another thing that was on his mind, too. Harry had brought up a Mind Healer a few days ago, and at the time Draco had refused, and then relented and said he would think about it. He originally planned to say no at a later date, but now a Mind Healer seemed more logical.

 

But what would be the point if he was going to end up in Azkaban, with the very people who helped make him like this in the first place?

 

It was another thing he didn't bare to think about.

 

Harry must've seen him grimace. "Are you alright?" He asked.

 

"F-F-Fine." He stuttered. It always got much worse when he was nervous.

 

"Listen, Draco, they will find you innocent, I know they will." He said determindly, as if he could decide the verdict by sheer will power.

 

"And if they didn't then I wouldn't let them take you." He added.

 

"R-Refusing t-to hand m-me over w-would b-be against the l-law." Draco pointed out. Harry shrugged.

 

"You're my friend, and the Ministry has a record of doing bad shit with no justification. So yeah, I would break the law."

 

Draco stared at him, bewildered. "A-After e-everything y-you d-did, you w-would throw a-all o-of what y-you d-did to b-become a f-fugitive? F-for me?"

 

Harry nodded. "In a heartbeat." He said with a sombre expression.

 

**

 

Draco's knees were shaking. So were his hands. His teeth kept clacking together, too.

 

He was waiting with Ron and Harry in a room next to the courtroom, where Granger was to recieve the verdict. A part of him wanted to get it over and done with, and another part never wanted to know.

 

He heard the sharp clack of heels outside and stiffened. The door opened and Granger walked in. She opened her mouth -

 

And, oh god, what if he was guilty? What if he was given a cell with one of the people who hurt him? What if they took turns again, what all of what he had achieved in these few weeks was torn down? He wouldn't survive, but they wouldn't let him die.

 

 _Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatif_ -

 

"Draco?" Harry's voice pierced the fog in his mind. "Are you alright?"

 

It was only then he realised the words from Granger's mouth were _'not guilty'._


	32. Chapter 32

_Draco cries delicately as the Dark Lord parts his thighs for what he thinks must be the hundreth time that night. Or maybe the thousandth. He isn't very good at keeping track anymore. Maybe he was never good at keeping track._

 

**

 

_Draco is terrified on principle._

 

**

 

When Draco stumbled downstairs the morning after his verdict, he finds Harry beaming at him, a letter in front of him.

 

"Morning, Draco." He says, handing Draco a plate. Draco's stomach flips at the thought of eating after being plagued with night terrors, waking constantly throughout the night. He thought he would better after the trial, but it turns out he was wrong. Very wrong, in fact.

 

Draco takes the plate anyway, looking at the letter and wondering why Harry was so happy. When Harry sees that Draco is merely pushing food around his plate and isn't actually going to eat anything, he hands Draco the letter.

 

_Dear Harry_

 

_As Mr D Malfoy has been found not guilty, he is a free man in the eyes of the law. He may now visit his mother and leave your care whenever he pleases._

 

_However as D Malfoy may not feel comfotable in Malfoy Manor I have adjusted Narcissa Malfoy's sentence to allow her to visit her son under the supervision of an Auror._

 

_\- Minister K Shaklebolt._

 

Draco's hands were trembling by the time he had finished reading it.

 

"I-I can s-see my Mother?" He asked, tears welling. But these were not fearful tears, they were happy ones. Harry nodded.

 

"As long as you have Auror supervision, and I could do that if you want." Harry offered.

 

Draco was so overcome with joy that a part of him actually wanted to lean over and hug Harry Potter. That was a thought he never thought he would have.

 

"W-When?"

 

Harry shrugged. "Whenever you want. Today if you like."

 

"T-Thank you," He almost cried. Harry just smiled.

 

"It's honestly no trouble. So, should I set up a meeting here for this afternoon?"

 

Draco nodded enthusiastically.

 

**

 

Narcissa Malfoy had always been a proud woman, and Harry had to give her credit for how much she was trying not to break down. Harry could see that she was tearful and politely ignored it in favour of leading her to the garden where Draco was waiting.

 

When she stepped over the threshold and Draco had turned to look at her, she had abandoned all remaining dignity, running over to him and wrapping her arms around him, almost sobbing into his shoulder.

 

"Oh, my baby boy, my baby," She sobbed, holding him close. Draco was equally as emotional, barely staying composed.

 

Harry felt like he was intruding on something very personal, so slipped back through the door and into the house, giving them their privacy.


	33. Chapter 33

Narcissa kept hold of Draco's hand as they sat on rickety chairs in Grimmauld Palace's garden.

 

"I'm glad you're alive," Narcissa squeezed his hand, dabbing at her eyes. "I was so worried. I can't believe you're still. . ."

 

Draco wiped at his eyes. "Yeah, I-I understand."

 

"I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner."

 

"I-It's o-okay, I k-know what y-your sentence was."

 

"I wish I could go back, take you from their, keep you safe."

 

Draco shrugged. "B-But you c-can't." Narcissa sighed.

 

"No, I can't. I just wish I could've done something to help."

 

Draco shrugged again. "Yeah, well . . ."

 

Narcissa waved her hands, dabbing at her eyes again. "Oh, I'm being silly. I can't change what was done, I can only hope they see justice in Azkaban. But I should be thinking about you. How are you, after everything?"

 

"I'm a-alright, I g-guess. I-I'm n-not okay, b-but I'm _a-alive_."

 

Narcissa pulled him into another hug, almost squeezing the life out of him. He let her, longing for the comfort of his Mother, which he had not had in so, so long.

 

"Are you seeing a Healer?" She asked when she pulled away. Draco fiddled with his sleeves.

 

"H-Harry mentioned it. I-I w-want t-to, but I d-don't think I'd b-be able to talk. I d-don't know why, I j-just _c-can't_."

 

Narcissa rubbed his hand. "I understand. What they did. . . if they weren't already in Azkaban, I would hunt them down myself." Draco knew by the tone of her voice that she wasn't exaggerating.

 

But, there was something bothering him. A niggling thought in the back of his mind, one that he couldn't stop thinking about. "D-Did you kn-know?"

 

He had a blurred memory of recognition, though he couldn't say if it was merely the product of his nightmares or if it actually happened.

 

Narcissa suddenly averted her eyes, and he knew. She didn't even have to confirm his suspicions, the look was enough.

 

"Oh," He said. He didn't know how to feel. He had been overjoyed about seeing his Mother, but she had known. She had known what they did to him, what happened at the parties, and hadn't _stopped_ it.

 

"Draco. . ." She reached for him, and he couldn't contain his flinch.

 

"You. . . _k-knew_." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "A-And you d-didn't do _a-anything_."

 

"Draco, I-" And she carried on talking, but he was no longer listening, staring at the patch of grass near his feet. He just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his own Mother had known and hadn't done _anything_.

 

**

 

Harry had thought a visit from his Mother would make Draco happier, yet he only seemed more quiet and downcast. Harry didn't push him when he barely talked throughout the evening, knowing that it would only upset him more. He did, however, encourage him to eat his food rather than push it around his plate, and Draco did well to eat half. Draco had filled out considerably since when he was found, and Harry wanted him to stay that way. It surprised him how much he genuinly cared about Draco Malfoy.

 

**

 

_He wonders how it always hurts, even after it happening hundreds, maybe thousands, of times. It always hurts a little more._

 

_Fenrir snarls as he finishes, pulling out roughly and leaving him a shivering mess on the floor. He tucks himself back into his pants, leaning down to drag his nails across Draco's chest. It takes everything he has not to shudder._

 

_"My pack's visiting later, so you'll be good for them, won't you?"_

 

_He nods. He is too overcome with fear to even comtemplate disobeying any of them. He will be good. He will. He will. He -_

 

**

 

He wakes, soaking with sweat and -

 

Oh. Oh no no no no no.

 

He's- He can't believe it. He _pissed_ himself. He isn't a _child_. Worse, he doesn't even _have_ a wand to clean it with.

 

He forces himself to take a deep breath, feeling the panic creep up on him. He can't freak out, not while Harry is only down the hall.

 

Maybe he should just leave it until morning? Shouldn't it dry -?

 

He hears the creak of the floorboards and freezes.

 

There is no way to hide it, Harry is going to _see_.


	34. Chapter 34

"Draco? What's wrong?" Harry asked gently as he eases the door open. He had heard Draco screaming from down the hall, and as he had most nights before, he had come to check on him.

 

Most nights Draco had been a shivering mess curled up in his bed, but tonight he was standing at the foot of his bed, hands flapping nervously over his crotch. He sucked in a breath as Harry opened the door, taking a step back.

 

"H-Harry, I-I d-d-d-" He sounded terrified, to terrified to even get his words out. Harry breathed in and smelt - oh. So, Draco had wet the bed. It wasn't that much of a big deal, at least it wasn't to Harry. But it was to Draco, it was plain as day.

 

"It's fine, Draco. I can just Scourify it. Do you wanna take a shower or something?" Harry asked, summoning his wand. Draco's breathing got worse, and he let out a whimper. He swayed on his feet, stumbling backwards as hs legs started to give out. Harry rushed forward and caught him just before he fell.

 

"I-I'm s-sorry!" He stammered, letting his face fall into his hands. "I-I h-hate t-this!" He shrieked, stamping his feet.

 

"It's okay," Harry said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "let it out, it's okay."

 

"I h-hate this! It's p-p-pathetic!" He sobbed. Harry wrapped his arms around him, letting him cry himself out.

 

The more the cried the more pathetic he felt. Here he was, sobbing in Harry Potter's arms after he wet the bed. If only his fifteen year old self could see him now.

 

"It's okay, I can just scourify it." Harry repeated. He waved his wand and cast the spell, and the smell disappeared.

 

"I-I, s-sorry. I j-just woke up like it." Harry rubbed his shoulder.

 

"It's okay, you didn't mean for it to happen." Harry reassured him.

 

"B-But still, I'm e-eighteen! I-I sh-shouldn't be w-wetting the b-bed!" He cried.

 

"It's normal, it's a symptom of PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder." Harry explained. Draco looked lost. Harry realised Draco, raised in a world of wizards, had probably never heard of such thing. "It's a mental illness that happens after a traumatic event. Like, soldiers who come back from the war. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

 

Draco was silent for a moment. "How d-do you k-know?"

 

"Hermione told me about it, after the war. I went to see a Healer, and was diagnosed with PTSD. I mean, we all lived through a war. And what happened to you was beyond traumatic. It was why I suggested the Healer."

 

"I-I w-want t-to see one, I-I j-just d-don't th-think I-I'd be able to t-talk."

 

"They wouldn't force you to talk, or stay. You'd be able to walk out at any time."

 

"C-Can I think o-on it? J-Just a l-little longer."

 

"Sure, I'm not going to force you into anything." Harry said.

 

Draco pulled himself up, shuffling along to the bathroom. Harry watched him go.

 

He did think a Healer would be able to help. Draco certainly needed one, after all he had been through. Tonight revealed just a little more of his trauma. Harry knows there is a lot buried deep inside his mind, things that didn't come out at the trial.

 

Still, let the small things happen first.

 

**

 

He dreamed. He didn't dream of Monster's and snakes, he dreamt of broomsticks and the wind against his face. He dreamt of flowers and a small boy in a robe shop.

 

He wakes with the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He still felt exhausted, but not as bad as before.

 

Maybe that Healer wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.


	35. Chapter 35

He was nervous that morning, to say the least. Harry hadn't been angry last night, but that didn't mean he wanted to _talk_ about it. It was so childish, and _degrading_.

 

"Morning," Harry said, sliding a bacon sandwich towards him. Draco's stomach churned at the thought of eating it. Just the smell was making him feel sick. He picked at it, eating it slowly.

 

"Can I ask, and you can tell me to piss off," Harry started, "but how did your Mother's visit go?"

 

Draco stared down at his plate. "I-It w-went, not g-good."

 

"Oh," Harry said. "She's allowed to visit again, and asked me to arrange another visit as soon as possible, do you want me to say no, or do you want to talk to her over the floo?"

 

Did he want to see his Mother again? Of course he did. Didn't he?

 

Draco kept staring at his plate as if the sandwich could help him articulate his thoughts.

 

"Or do you want to wait for a bit? I can tell her you're deciding on a date or something." Harry went on.

 

"Sh-She knew." He blurted out. "Sh-She w-was there. Sh-She _kn-knew_ what th-they w-were d-doing t-to me and d-did n-nothing to st-stop it."

 

He glanced up at Harry and saw that he looked shocked.

 

"Oh." He repeated, clearly not expecting the revelation. "Is. . .Is that what your nightmare was about, last night?" He asked hesitantly. Draco flushed.

 

"N-Not r-really. Th-There al-always dif-different." _But never any less terrifying than the last._

 

"Well, you know that it's okay to have nightmares, you know? I have them. Like I said, we lived through a war."

 

"B-But you d-don't. . ." He trailed off, not wanting to finish.

 

"Yeah, I don't. But it doesn't mean just because I don't when I have nightmares, that you should be ashamed that you do. You can't help it."

 

"I j-just w-want t-them t-to st-stop." He confessed quietly. Harry scratched his head.

 

"I guess I could give you dreamless sleep, but not every night. It might work-"

 

Draco quickly shook his head. "No, I-I c-can't. I-I c-can't b-be d-drugged," He had to resist the urge to shudder at the thought.

 

"Well, I'm not really sure what else-"

 

"I-I'll d-do i-it." He said. "I w-want t-to s-see the H-Healer."


	36. Chapter 36

The thing about seeing a Healer was that in hindsight, it was something that was good, however when the time came to actually have a session, it was terrifying. It didn't help that he hadn't slept that night, too worried about having another nightmare to even try properly.

 

Harry had reassurred him that Healer Wentworth was the best in the country, and that everything he said would be confidential. Harry had offered to sit in on the first session, but he had declined. He was almost thinking about taking it back when he heard a knock on the door.

 

Healer Wentworth was a pudgy, young woman with a mop of brown hair, a warm smile on her face. Draco stiffened in his seat when she entered. It was an automatic response, one that he couldn't stop no matter how kind she looked.

 

"Hello," Healer Wentworth said, sitting in the armchair across from Draco. "I'm Stephanie Wentworth. It is very nice to meet you. Can I call you Draco?"

 

Draco nodded, eyes on the floor. He regretted wanting to see a Healer, now.

 

"So, Draco, before I learn anything about you I feel I should tell you a bit more about these sessions, though I'm sure Harry has briefed you on it already. You're not being forced into these sessions, and you can leave at anytime you wish. If you want to have someone sit in with you, you absolutely can." She said, smiling. All of this he already knew, but it was reassuring to hear it from the Healer herself.

 

"And I know, that really, I know very little about you. So, I was wondering if there was anything you'd like to tell me about yourself?"

 

He shrugged. There wasn't much to tell. Everything that she needed to know had already been in the papers for the world to see.

 

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" He shook his head.

 

"What's your favourite colour?"

 

". . .G-Green." He said quietly.

 

"Favourite Quidditch team?"

 

"M-Montrose Magpies." They had been the best the last time he followed the Quidditch games.

 

"Hm. . . I like the Magpies too." Healer Wentworth said. "Could I ask you some more serious questions, Draco, or would you like to keep to the casual ones today?"

 

Healer Wentworth didn't push him when he took a minute to answer, simply smiling and waiting for his answer. Draco eventually nodded.

 

"What do you want from these sessions, Draco?" She asked softly.

 

Draco tried to form words, but found he didn't know what he wanted to say. What did he want from these sessions? He wanted to be cured - but from what? Nightmares, was definitly one thing. The constant fear was another thing. But how? How do you cure trauma?

 

"I-I," He started, staring at the carpet. "I w-want t-to," He took a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. "n-not b-be. . ." He paused.

 

Healer Wentworth didn't try to put words in his mouth as he struggled to find the right word.

 

"s-scared." He decided on. It was one way of saying it.

 

Healer Wentworth nodded, understandingly. "And what would not being scared mean for you?"

 

It was a question Draco didn't know the answer to.


	37. Chapter 37

What would not being scared mean for him? Healer Wentworth had left him with that question, and even after hours of thinking about it, he still wasn't sure of the answer.

 

It would mean no nightmares, for one thing. Being able to speak without a stutter, being able to speak casually. Being able to look someone in the eye.

 

But those things were merely things that would happen if there was a lack of fear, it still didn't address what he would be like as a person.

 

He rolled over the the over side of the bed, staring at the half-moon through his open window. He always left it open, letting the sounds of the night penetrate the dark. It made it easier to bring himself back to the present after a vicious but quiet nightmare.

 

He ran his nails across the Dark Mark, letting them open up the wound made by Fenrir. The Beast. His mark. A reminder, one that he couldn't scrub away no matter how hard he tried.

 

Just thinking about the Beast made him shiver in his sheets, thinking about all the inhumane things that had been done to him. Not just Fenrir, but the Dark Lord, and then the Death Eaters that had simply wanted a bit of fun.

 

And then that brought him to another question, one he didn't want to talk about: How could his parents of known what was being done to him and not put a stop to it? Or at least tried to?

 

If it was the other way round, if his parents were the ones suffering, wouldn't he have tried?

 

So why hadn't they?

 

His parents had never been overly affectionate, but he had known he was loved. Clearly they hadn't loved him enough.

 

**

 

He didn't want to give in, but he was exhausted, and eventually sleep came to him.


	38. Chapter 38

_They are coming. They are coming. They are coming._

 

_The door opens, and Draco feels something shatter inside of him._

**

 

He wakes panting, letting out a hoarse scream as he shoots up in his bed. His sheets are sodden with sweat, but after a quick check he is relieved that that is the only thing they're wet with.

 

He hears the creak of the floorboards outside, and for a second he is doused with that never-ending fear, and grips the sheets with his fists to bring him back to reality.

 

"Draco?" Harry says through the door. "Are you alright?"

 

Draco stays silent, huddled under his covers. If Harry comes in, then that means he would most likely talk, and he isn't sure if he would be able to get his words out now. He hears Harry go back into his own room, and sighs tiredly.

 

The dream. . . It hadn't been anything specific. It hadn't been a night with the Dark Lord, or with Fenrir's pack or at a party. It had just been the dark, and the creaking footsteps outside the door. The thought of being back in that room is enough to send him spiraling back into a panicked state.

 

He lays against the soft covers, eyes drawn to the strip of moonlight escaping through the curtain.

 

It would be a full moon, soon.

 

**

 

Draco still isn't sure whether he wants to see his Mother again. Maybe he will, to find out more, but he isn't sure if he _wants_ to know more.

 

Everything is so confusing. He wishes it would stop for a while.


	39. Chapter 39

Draco really doesn't want to get up. He knows he should, but he just can't be bothered. He's so _tired_ , his limbs feel so much heavier than they actually are. Harry would be concerned.

 

But _why_ was Harry so concerned? He was a Death Eater. Harry fought a war against people like him. Why was he so comfortable around him? Harry shouldn't be concerned about him. It was _frustrating_. Was it pity that made him care? Was he simply letting Draco stay because he had been a criminal before, and had needed to stay with an Auror? And speaking of being an Auror, why hadn't Harry gone to work since he had found Draco?

 

He didn't know where the questions had sprung from, but he knew he needed answers, for some of them, at least. And that meant talking to Harry. Which meant getting out of bed.

 

So, he forced himself to roll out of bed, wincing when he hit the floor with a thud. Most of his wounds had faded to scars, but that didn't mean his bones didn't ache.

 

He pulled on a robe and made his way over to the landing, pausing at the top of the stairs when he heard voices.

 

"I have a right to see him!" A high pitched voice hissed. The voice sounds familiar, but Draco can't quite place it.

 

"I know, but you can't just barge in-" Harry says.

 

"Barge in? I've been sending you letters since the trial!"

 

"I haven't been answering any mail from strangers!"

 

"Merlin, Potter, you're more stupid than you were in school!" The voice sneers.

 

Draco thinks of the dark, and of laughter and flowers and the voice clicks. Pansy. Pansy Parkinson was downstairs, in Harry's house.

 

He stumbles backwards, taking care to quietly close the door behind him. He flopped back onto the bed, not sure how to feel. Pansy and him had known each other since they were eight, and she, along from Greg and Vince, had been one of his best friends throughout his time at Hogwarts. Until sixth year, where he had isolated himself from everyone.

 

But Pansy had always been. . . _clingy._ It wasn't as if she was obsessive, it was more that she liked to touch people. And had been loud and bossy. Draco isn't sure if he'd last a through a conversation with her.

 

But. . . this was _Pansy_. She hadn't seen him since his failure on the Astronomy Tower. She had most likely thought him to be _dead_. He felt like it wouldn't of been fair to her, if he simply turned her away now.

 

So, steeling himself, he opened his bedroom door again.


	40. Chapter 40

Pansy Parkinson had been worried, practically to death, about what had become of Draco after their sixth year. She had heard nothing during the war and for more than a months afterwards. She had believed her old best friend to be dead.

 

And then the picture of Draco being carried into St Mungos by none other than Harry Potter himself, and then the speculation of what had happened to him, and then the trial. She had been sending letters to Potter for weeks, with no reply, and had finally gotten sick of waiting and found out where he was living. And then had, probably rudely, though she spared little thought to manners, barged in on him and demanded to see Draco.

 

And now, when she hears the creak of the door and turns to find him standing there, she can't help the gasp that escapes her lips at the sight of him. He had always been thin, but now he was gaunt, and white as snow. Pansy stood, resisting a cringe when Draco flinched slightly, taking a half-step backwards.

 

"Draco. . ." She said, not sure what else to say.

 

"H-Hey, Pansy." Draco said quietly. That was all he had to say for Pansy to stumble towards him, arms outstretched. He automatically stiffened, and then found himself hugging the girl back. He hadn't realised how much he had missed her.

 

"Salazar, I thought you were _dead!_ " She sobbed into his shoulder. Draco found himself at loss for words, and settled on holding her. Her warmth was nice, comforting.

 

**

 

"Is he treating you well?" Pansy queried over her tea.

 

Draco nodded.

 

"Have you spoken to your mother? She wrote to me once, she was awfully worried."

 

"Mmm." Draco murmured, feeling his throat tighten at the mention of his Mother. It was a subject he would much rather ignore, for the time being.

 

"Draco, I could be having a more lively conversation with the carpet."

 

Draco stared down at his hands. "S-Sorry, I-" He stuttered. Pansy placed what was meant to be a well-meaning hand on his arm, but he stiffened. Pansy noticed, and quickly took her arm away.

 

"I didn't mean you had to apologise. I just. . . I missed you so much, Draco. We all did. We all thought you had been killed. I don't know what he did to you, but I know it must of been terrible."

 

Draco was confused. "The t-trial? I-It w-was public."

 

"I know, but I didn't look at the details. I figured that was something you would tell me if you wanted me to know."

 

"Oh," He said. "y-yeah. I-It was." It was something he would most likely never speak to her about, however it was nice to know she had offered.

 

"S-So, how i-is e-everyone else?"

 

A grin spread across Pansy's face. "Well," She started, "Blaise has started an apprenticeship in St Mungos, Theo and Millicent have started dating. . ."

 

**

 

"P-Please d-don't make m-me."

 

Healer Wentworth tried meeting his eyes, but he deliberately averted them. He _couldn't_. She wanted him to tell her about the very first time it happened, and he couldn't.

 

"Remember what we spoke about last time, about being scared?" She said, softly but firmly. "It would be really helpful to you if you did tell me."

 

Draco took a deep breath, trying to quell his rising panic. He could do this. He could.

 

"It w-was h-him. V-V-Voldem-mort. H-He w-was f-first. I-I w-was in th-that room. I-I d-didn't r-realise h-he w-was in there w-with me until h-he t-touched me. H-He p-put his hands on m-my face." He risks a glance at Healer Wentworth. Her eyes have widened slightly, but that's the only change in her expression that he can see. She doesn't interrupt him, and he finds he can't stop.

 

"H-He h-had me th-there and then. It h-hurt _s-so_ much." His vision is going blurry, and he could feel heat crawling up his neck. But still, he didn't stop.

 

"I th-thought that i-it would g-get less p-painful, b-but it _d-didn't_. I-I didn't think i-it c-could get a-any worse, a-and then h-he brought F-Fenrir into that r-room. A-And even th-then, I th-thought it w-was a-as bad as i-it c-could p-possibly g-get. B-But it _wasn't_."

 

Healer Wentworth was looking at him with a mix of pity and sadness, however his vision was far too blurred to see properly.

 

"Draco, I want you to listen to me." She said. "They will never be able to hurt you again. They're both dead."

 

Draco twisted his fingers in his lap, a nervous habit Healer Wentworth had noticed.

 

"I-I k-know, b-but I c-can't m-make them l-leave m-my h-head."


	41. Chapter 41

Harry subtly watched Draco over his breakfast. He had been oddly subdued since yesterday, when he had come out of his second session with Healer Wentworth. Which was saying something, as Draco rarely talked at all without being prompted. He had barely even looked at Harry, staring at the floor instead. He ate slowly, as if the action was taxing.

 

"Uh, Draco," He started. Draco looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a second, and Harry was taken aback by how hollow they were. "I'm going out today, just to the park close to here. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me? It's usually pretty empty."

 

Draco shrugged, looking back down at his half-empty plate.

 

"Draco?"

 

Draco almost shrugged again when he realised that Harry wanted an actual answer.

 

"I-I don't kn-know."

 

"Well, it's usually pretty empty, so feel free to come if you want."

 

**

 

It took him another hour to decide what he was going to do. He was going. _Outside_. He hadn't been outside, properly outside, since before. Over a _year_ ago. Putting it in that perspective makes it seem like such a long time ago.

 

He dressed in some of Harry's muggle clothing, as they're going to a muggle park and he doesn't want people to stare. It's the last thing he wants. He's wearing a pair of black jeans, with a grey jumper and a brown suede jacket over the top. He thinks he looks unremarkable enough.

 

Harry is waiting for him when he trudges down the stairs, wearing an old pair of blue jeans and a hoodie. He smiles when he sees Draco wearing his clothes.

 

"They look good on you." He says as he unlocks the front door. Draco almost has trouble breathing. Almost.

 

 _It's just a garden._ He tells himself. _And then it's just a street, and then just a park._

 

He notices Harry's hand stretched towards him, a look of concern on his face. He looks back at the hand and then his face.

 

He meets his eyes. _You're not alone._ They seem to be saying.

 

He grasps Harry's hand and they leave Grimmauld together.

 

**

 

The walk to the park is surprisingly. . . not _easy,_ not by a long shot. But not difficult, either. He matches his breathing with Harry's, and works hard on not looking at anyones faces. Even so, he feels as if they are all staring right into his soul. Or something poetic like that.

 

The park is mostly empty. Across the pond there's a teenager on a swing, rocking slightly and fiddling with something in her hand. A younger girl is on the swing next to her, much more enthusiastic than what Draco assumes is her sister.

 

They sit on a bench and Draco watches the ducks on the pond. He flushes when he realises that their hands are still joined, though he makes no move to separate them. Neither does Harry.

 

Harry shatters the silence. "I'm glad you came with me today."

 

"Why?" Draco responds. It's clearly not the answer Harry was wanting.

 

"I like company." He says simply. It's not the answer Draco was wanting, either.

 

"T-That's not what I meant." He is surprised by how strong his voice is. He barely even stutters. Harry looks at him questionably. "I m-meant _me_. Why d-did you h-help _me_?" He can't bare to look at him when he asks it, too afraid of what he might find in Harry's face.

 

"Because you were a kid." Harry says. "A kid who got mixed up in a war with no way out, from the beginning you were trapped. And then, when we found you. . ." Harry looks out across the pond. ". . .It wasn't something I would wish on my worst enemy. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

 

"Oh." He wasn't sure what to say to that. He had expected Harry to say that he was in his custody, and so that he was forced to. He hadn't expected for Harry to sound like he actually cared.

 

There's a mildly awkward pause before Harry speaks again. "Hey, there's a coffee stand near here, do you want to get one?"

 

Draco watches a duck dive into the water then come back up, water rolling off of its feathers.

 

"I'd like that." He said, voice strong and barely wobbling.


	42. Chapter 42

Draco sipped his coffee, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. He felt like, after what Harry had said, he should apologise. He might've been a child then, but he certainly wasn't trapped then. That had been all him. The words of a bratty child who had been jealous of Weasley and Granger.

 

He could admit that, at least to himself, that the only reason he had picked on them so relentlessly was because Harry had rejected him. If they hadn't of been Harry's friends he likely would have ignored him for the most part.

 

"You okay?" Draco nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.

 

"Th-This is nice." He commented.

 

"Yeah, it is." Harry agreed. Draco didn't think he was refering to the coffee.

 

 

**

Harry handed him the jar of Lupus Lenire, explaining what it was used for and when. The full moon was approaching fast. Draco hadn't even realised what the symptoms of being bitten by a werewolf in his human form were. He hadn't realised there were any.

 

But when he thinks about it, a can remember a day - or night? - when his skin felt like it was going to burst. He remembers scratching and scratching and waking to blood under his nails. But Harry doesn't need to know that. He slips the bottle into the pocket of his jacket.

 

"Oh, and this is for you," Harry said as he handed Draco an envelope. Draco looked at the fancy cursive writing and swallowed. He would know that handwriting anywhere.

 

**

 

_\- Draco_

 

_I find myself wordless, for the very first time in my life. Your mother gave me news on your whereabouts and the outcome of your trial, and to say that I am relieved about the outcome is an understatement._

 

_However, there is a matter that I feel needs to be addressed. A dreadful mistake on both my part and your mother's._

 

_It is true that we knew about the 'parties', I am not going to lie to you. There is nothing I can say to justify my actions. It was a selfish decision made in my lowest moment. I hope that one day you will find it in yourself to forgive us._

 

_But until that day I can only apologise and wish for your wellbeing._

 

_\- Your Father_

 

Draco scrunched up the letter into a ball and then unscrunched it. He read it again, and then scrunched it up again.

 

He had been having a good day. Out of all the days for his father to write, it had to be the _one_ good day.

 

But then he felt stupid. His father was only apologising. And really, it must of taken a lot out his father to admit that he was wrong and actually apologise with such sentiment. His father especially had never been overly sentimental. He preferred to lie his way out of situations tht required an apology, not openly admit that he was wrong. And here he was, doing just that.

 

And then he felt stupid for feeling stupid. He was allowed to be angry, wasn't he? His father and mother _willingly_ left him to suffer to save themselves. So he was _rightfully_ angry, wasn't he?

 

He almost ripped the letter up, deciding at the last second not to, instead shoving it under his mattress.

 

**

 

Nights were always the worse. In the days it was slightly easier, he had _things_ to do in daytime (not that they were very important things, but things nonetheless). But night was empty of them, and filled with things he would rather not think about.

 

Like how the full moon was coming. He can the the moon from his bedroom window, see how it is almost round. Obviously it wouldn't be as bad as being an actual werewolf, he knew that. But the feeling not-completely human brought back memories. The thing he didn't want to think about.

 

Sighing loudly, he rolled over and tugged the covers over himself. He refused to think about Fenrir, or that room or the marks on his-

 

"Stop it," He muttered. He tried to think of something that he actually liked which had nothing to do with anything else.

 

Potions? No, Snape used to teach that and he too had just let that happen -

 

Quidditch? Yes. Quidditch was something he could think about. It had been an age since he last played or even sat on a broom. It would be nice to do that again.

 

He drifted asleep to the memory of racing Harry to the snitch.


	43. Chapter 43

"I-I think it w-was m-mainly fear, y-you know." He says, though he knows she doesn't. She nods anyway.

 

"Fear from. . .?" She waits for him to finish.

 

"I-I j-just wanted t-to be left alone, s-so I tried to m-make myself a-as unnoticable as p-possible."

 

"Do you still feel that fear, Draco?"

 

He shrugs, staring at a ball of dust by his feet. The fear isn't there anymore, but at the same time it _is_. There isn't a way to put it into words that would actually make sense.

 

"Draco?" Stephanie prompts. Draco squeezes his eyes shut.

 

"I-I guess. I mean i-it's not. . ." He opens his eyes, going back to staring at the dust. The sessions are always hard. Talking about it will never not be hard. He thinks that Stephanie thinks if he talks about it, it will make everything better. He isn't so sure.

 

Talking about it makes it more _real_. It makes it more horrifying and more terrifying and -

 

"Draco!"

 

He's on the floor by his chair, next to the dust, gasping for breath around the lump in his throat. Stephanie kneels next to him, a small distance away. They do breathing exercises for the rest of the session.

 

**

 

Harry watched Draco carefully over dinner, trying to figure out what had the blond in such a foul mood. He had been having a good day a couple of days ago, but then his mood had suddenly taken an abrupt turn in the opposite direction.

 

Maybe it was the therapy. Draco's eyes had been red-rimmed when he had come out of therapy that morning, but then again, maybe that was just therapy all over. He trusted to tell him if therapy wasn't going well or if he wanted to see a different healer. Once upon a time, he might've asked his therapist how the sessions were going, but he was mature enough now to know that that is Draco's business, not his.

 

He wanted to ask, however he had no real way of casually bringing it up. And he had a feeling that Draco wouldn't answer, anyway.

 

And, there was another thing Harry wanted to talk to Draco about. His magic.

 

Draco's old wand had never been recovered - he assumed it had been destroyed - yet that didn't mean that Draco's magic was gone. A part of Harry thinks that's why he survived so long. That or Draco was simply too stubborn to die.

 

The state Draco's magic would be in, however, was something else entirely. Your magic is part of you. If you go through something traumatic then so does your magic. Draco's magic had been pushed to the brink, there would be no telling how it would react to suddenly being awakened.

 

Harry coughed, trying to get his attention. Draco didn't look up. Harry coughed again awkwardly, and Draco still didn't look up.

 

"Draco." He said. Draco met his eyes for half a second before flicking back down to look at his nose instead. "Um, well, I was wondering, about your magic." Draco's face twisted into a frown.

 

"M-My magic?"

 

"Yeah, well, you don't have a wand, so I was wondering if you would want to use mine if you needed to."

 

"It's your w-wand. It w-wouldn't work f-for me." He can't quite hide the sadness in his voice when he realises that he really is never going to see his old wand again.

 

"Well, yeah, but it _might_." Harry said as he took his wand from his pocket and places it on the table in front of them. He doesn't miss the way Draco stiffens, or the way his fingers turn white where they are wrapped around his cutlery.

 

"I-It doesn't matter." Draco says as evenly as he can. It's Harry's turn to scowl.

 

"Of course it matters; it's your magic."

 

"No." Draco argues. Part of Harry is (metaphorically) jumping for joy because Draco was actually _arguing_ with him, he was actually saying _no_. And the other part was just confused. "It doesn't."

 

"But-" Draco interrupted him by standing from his chair and storming from the room. Harry wishes he could unsee the shaking of his fingers or the way his eyes kept to him for as long as he could without bumping into anything.

 

It just leads to a whole knew set of questions. Why was he so afraid to use his magic? Was he afraid his magic simply wouldn't work properly? Was he afraid that it would be wild and untameable?

 

_Why was Harry's life never easy?_


	44. Chapter 44

His bare feet slap against the steps as he races down the narrow staircase. He will win, this time. They will not have him again. They can't.

 

His lungs are burning by the time he reaches the wooden floor, and his legs are trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and fear. But he can't stop.

 

He bypasses the drawing room - with that dreadful poker - and instead runs through to where he knows the back door is, not stopping to take in his surroundings. He doesn't need to. Soon, he will never have to see this place again.

 

And then someone hisses and a cold hand wraps around his neck. Draco squealed, but the sound is lost to the hand that is placed over his mouth. Draco kicks and thrashes wildly, yet he knows it is pointless. They have won.

 

He goes limp as the cold hands trail along his nude body, his only movement the occasional shiver. 

 

Then the hands abruptly leave him and he opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by the dark. 

 

"Draco," A hoarse voice said.

 

Draco rocketed up in bed, flailing wildly. His hand connects with something soft and someone grunts, and Draco shrieked, scrambling backwards until his back hits the headboard. His mind clears and he realises that he isn't in the dark again, he isn't with Greyback or Voldemort. He was in Grimmauld Place, in Harry's house, and he had just hit Harry. Draco gulps.

 

"Harry?" He whispers. "I'm sorry, I-I d-didn't know it w-was you."

 

He hears Harry clear his throat, a second later the lamp on his bedside table flicked itself on. Harry's cheek had a red mark on it. Draco looked down guiltily, nails picking at a scab on his elbow.

 

"Yeah, it's fine." He said. Draco shifted in the bed sheets, feeling awkward.

 

"W-Why are you h-here?" He asked.

 

"You were calling for me. A nightmare, probably." He said, adding the 'probably' as an afterthought. They both knew he was right.

 

"Um, thanks, I-I guess." Draco mumbled, at loss for what to say. Harry looked at him again before he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

 

** 

 

Draco thinks that Harry should really stop trying to hide the newspaper from him. He saw the title of the front page article perfectly well when he came down. Maybe Harry's embarrassed. He wasn't sure if Harry was embarrassed for him or because of him.

 

"C-Can I see that?" He nodded to the newspaper Harry had shoved under the table.

 

"What-? Oh," Harry flushed, passing it to him. He felt Harry watching him as he read the front page.

 

**Potter and Malfoy: Is there something more?**

 

_We all saw Harry Potter defending Draco Malfoy at his trial a few weeks ago, and most of us are now aware that Potter had been housing Malfoy since he was found in the custody of Death Eaters. While Malfoy is innocent on record, some people still adamantly disagree with his sentencing._

 

_However, this article is not just about Malfoy. The Boy Who Lived was spotted at a muggle park with Malfoy, and our sources say that the pair were holding hands. They stayed at the park for almost an hour before leaving._

 

_So, is The Boy Who Lived gay? And if so, why Draco Malfoy?_

 

_[We were unable to reach Narcissa Malfoy for her view on this.]_

 

_~ Rita Skeeter_

 

Draco dropped the newspaper on the table, rolling his eyes at Skeeter's antics. For once in the damned woman's life, couldn't she just leave something alone? Perhaps it was payback for those times he had bitched to Skeeter about the trio in his third year.

 

Harry is  still watching him, trying to be subtle, but Draco can feel his eyes on him. He tries to ignore it, instead eating his breakfast, when Harry clears his throat.

 

"The article - I should of made sure we had glamour charms on, or at least made sure we weren't being -"

 

"It's fine." Draco interrupts him, and is surprised, not just by how true his words sound, but by true his words actually are. He really isn't bothered by the article. Once, he might've been, but he has bigger things to worry about now than some article some desperate, attention seeking woman is writing about him.

 

"It is?" 

 

"I m-mean, I don't really c-care what she has t-to say about me. A-And I d-don't care if she m-makes people thing I'm g-gay."

 

"Oh," Harry says around a piece of toast. Out of the corner of his eye Draco can see him glancing at him and then down to his plate, a small smile spreading across his face. "So, uh, are you gay?" Harry asks bluntly.

 

Draco shrugs. It was never something that he had thought about in the past. It hadn't mattered, then. Then, he was going to be married off to some rich pureblood daughter and have a male heir to carry on the family name. Now, it does matter. He can live his life however he wants. To be completely honest, aside from the notion that Blaise Zabini was oddly attractive (and that Harry had looked better than simply okay in his quidditch uniform, though he would never admit to that one), it had never really crossed him mind.

 

"I-I've never really p-put much thought into i-it." He said thoughtfully. 

 

"Oh, cool. But, you know, it's alright if you are, you know? 'Cause I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable-"

 

Draco shrugs again. "I-I know." And he couldn't quite figure out where the small smile on Harry's face had come from, or why it stayed on his face throughout the rest of the morning.

 

**

 

The conversation that morning gave Draco something other than his magic to focus on. He tried to avert his mind from his. . . 'crisis' and instead tried to focus on whether he was actually gay or not.

 

He couldn't actually ever recall being attracted to girl. Sure, he and Pansy had had a few awkward, almost 'date' type things, though more for the benefit of his parents than himself.

 

But, try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about his magic. He desperately wanted to know if his magic would still work normally, but at the same time he desperately didn't want to know at all. He didn't know how to handle it if his magic didn't work for him anymore.

 

He wasn't going to bring the subject up, at least not for a while, and he could only hope that Harry wouldn't.

 

**

 

Draco furiously scratched his arm, watching dark beads of blood bubble up to the surface of the skin. It would be a scab by the morning, he knew. He was covered in them. Draco had thought that the Lupus Lenire cream would only have to be applied on the actual full moon - but apparently not.

 

He grabbed the jar from his bedside table and stumbled into the bathroom, quickly flicking the light on. There were scratch marks over his cheeks and throat, disappearing into the neckline of his pyjama top. He pulled it off and twisted the lid off the jar, scooping some of the white cream into his hands and rubbing it over his chest. The need to scratch his own skin off waned immediately, but didn't vanish entirely.

 

Draco was trying to figure out how to reach his back when the door banged open, and Harry almost smacked into him from behind. Their eyes met in the mirror and Harry's eyes widened, and he stumbled back and shut the door behind him. 

 

"Sorry!" He called. "I didn't know you were in there."

 

"I-It's fine." Draco called back. After a moments hesitation, he spoke again;

 

"Harry, I, uh, n-need some h-help."

 

Harry opened the door again and peered at him. "Uh, you do?"

 

"I-I can't reach my b-back."

 

Harry nodded understandingly. "I get it; how do you want to go this?"

 

Draco turned to face the mirror, watching Harry in the reflection. If he could see the person who was touching him, then surely it wouldn't be so bad. He gripped the sink and signalled to Harry that it was okay for him to touch him.

 

Harry's touch started out soft and light, so light Draco barely felt it. Even so his fingers clenched around the sink, tense as a  predator about to catch its prey. Or, more accurately, tense as prey who knew it was about to be caught.

 

But as Harry went on Draco found himself breathing easier, found his grip on the sink loosening. He even found himself leaning into Harry's touch, starved of the gentle affection for so long.

 

"Almost done," Harry said, rubbing over the curve of his spine. "You're doing incredibly well."

 

"I-I doubt I w-would b-be if it was anyone e-else." Draco said without thinking. Harry grinned at him through the mirror.

 

"Then I'm glad it's me."

**

Draco still wasn't sure what the grin meant. But, oddly enough, he found himself okay with that.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry for the long wait for this chapter, I've been going through a horrible writers block for this story. just a quick question, would you guys prefer longer updates with more time inbetween posting or shorter updates and quicker updates? 
> 
> (also im hoping to end this fic soon)

The next morning, Draco's good mood was shattered when he went downstairs to find Harry's wand on the table in front of him. He froze in the doorway, his hands curling into fists.

 

Draco could hear Harry in the kitchen; he hadn't heard him yet. Knowing this, Draco turned on his heel and went quietly back up to his room.

 

**

Harry was sorting through the mail and wondering where Draco was when he heard the roar of the floo. Grabbing his wand from the table he cautiously went into the living room, lowering his wand when he saw Pansy Parkinson standing in the middle of the living room. She raised an uninterested eyebrow at him.

 

"I'm here to see Draco." She told him.

 

"I didn't know you were coming."

 

Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's because, Potter, not everything revolves around you." And with that she stalked past him, ignoring Harry's defeated sigh.

 

"Whatever," He muttered, deciding to simply leave them to it.

 

**

 

"I got your letter." Pansy said, hating the dead silence of the room, feeling the need to fill it up with something.

 

"I know." Draco whispered back. He was curled up on the edge of his bed, leaning against the headboard. He looked so small.

 

He had sent Pansy a frantic letter that morning, and she had come as soon as she finished it.

 

"What's wrong, Draco?" She asked carefully, not wanting him to close up further.

 

"I-I. . . I think I'm g-gay." He blurted out. Pansy blinked at him. Of all the things she had expected, this was not one of them.

 

"Oh," She said. "Okay." 

 

Draco wouldn't look at her, staring out of the window at nothing.

 

"Is that a problem?"

 

Draco nodded, burying his head in his hands. Pansy reached out a hand then pulled back, thinking better of it at.

 

"Draco, how is it a problem?" A small part of her thought she already knew exactly what Draco's problem was, but she waited patiently for him to confirm her theory.

 

"I-It's not th-that being g-gay is a p-problem, it's wh-who I think I like that's a problem!" He wailed. Pansy waited for him to continue.

 

"A-And h-he would n-never l-like me back, n-not in that w-way. "

 

And her theory was confirmed. Of all people. . . still, Draco had been through a lot. She wasn't about to abandoned him in a moment of need because he fancied someone who, in her opinion, had a stick up his arse.

 

"Is that really the problem, though?" She asked softly. Draco shook his head, somehow curling up smaller.

 

"M-My m-magic-" He stuttered, "I d-don't think it's here a-anymore." He said in one breath, slumping against the headboard. For a second, Pansy was speechless.

 

She knew what severe trauma could do to magic. It could render your magic useless, or make it wild beyond control. Your magic could seem useless and then burst out of you unpredictably, and could even injure people. It differed from person to person, from trauma to trauma.

 

"Draco," She started. "have you tried-?"

 

"N-Not exactly, b-but I know wh-what happens to magic after-" Draco cut himself off, running a hand throw his messy hair.

 

"They raped me, Pansy." He whispered, voice strangely strong. Pansy didn't move, a wave of shock running through her. She knew, deep down, that it was likely. Death Eaters were savages, and although she had supported them in her younger years, she was old enough to acknowledge that they would stop at nothing to hurt someone. And her poor Draco had been right there for the taking.

 

"Again and again. They just w-wouldn't stop." His voice cracked with the weight of his confession, and Pansy found herself throwing her arms around his thin soldiers, relieved when he buried his face in her shoulder.

 

"They hurt you, I know, Draco. They tried to make you not human, but don't you see?" She pulled apart to look into his eyes. "They fucking lost. Because you're still here, and your alive. If you give up now and hide away, and never try to regain your old life back, then your letting them win. And you shouldn't, because they're going to rot in Azkaban, and you can live your life however you please.

 

So, get yourself a wand. Ask Potter for one. You can borrow mine, if you want. Practise your magic. And when the time is right, go tell Potter you have a crush on him."

 

She snickered as Draco squawked and lightly hit her with a pillow.

 

"I d-do not!" He said indignantly, his pale face flushing red. She giggled, feeling like they were in fourth year, before everything happened, talking about crushes and school and stupid little things that hadn't mattered in the grand scheme of things. She was so glad to have her Draco back in one piece.

 

The year where she had not known what had become of him was the worst thing she could remember about the war. Maybe that was selfish; people had died. But she didn't know them (except for Crabbe and a third year Slytherin girl who was murdered by a Death Eater in the final battle). The other houses had made Slytherins outcasts from the beginning, had booed them at every Quidditch match, had sneered at them when they were sorted.

 

Draco was so much different. He wasn't an angel with a secret heart of gold, but he was her best friend. He was friendly with Crabbe and Goyle, yet for any real problems (or an intelligent conversation) he would always come to her. They had been best friends since they were children.  And not knowing what had become of him after vanished from Hogwarts had nearly destroyed her.

 

They settled in a comfortable chat about the little, insignificant things. Pansy told Draco how Blaise's apprenticeship as a Healer was going, how she was thinking about getting a cat (she was slightly lonely, living in a flat by herself), and how he should her choose. They both avoided the elephant in the room, Draco because he didn't want to talk about it and Pansy because she didn't know how to bring it up again.

 

**

 

"Have you made any achievements, Draco?" Stephanie asked, smiling at him. Draco shrugged.

 

"I'm n-not sure if it c-counts but . . . I told my friend a-about what happened."

 

"Of course it counts. How did you feel telling them?" She asks. Draco shrugs again.

 

"I-I'm not sure. I-I was u-upset about things, a-and it j-just slipped out." Stephanie nodded.

 

"Do you regret telling her?"

 

"No. I- She w-would n-never do anything t-to hurt me."

 

Stephanie's smile grew wider. "I'm proud of you, Draco. You've come a long way, to openly talk about what happened."

 

Draco squirmed, feeling awkward but not uncomfortable.

 

**

_Run_

 

_Run_

 

_Run_

 

_They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming-_

 

_A cold hand reaches towards him, but this time, it never touches his skin._

 

_He is safe._


	46. Chapter 46

Draco sat next to Harry in the park. There were no children on the swings today, but the ducks were still floating on the pond. Draco watches a duck with more baby feathers than the others dive under water, coming back up with a sharp quack.

 

Neither of them speak, because they don't need to. They had settled into a comfortable silence, one that neither of them wanted to shatter. Draco had mentioned that morning that he maybe might want to get a wand, and Harry (whilst insisting that it was completely up to him) had suggested that they should pop into Ollivander's.

 

Draco still wasn't sure if he wanted to go. He was fine at the park. It was almost empty, and too spacious for him to ever panic about the number of people. It was calm. At Ollivander's, there would be no such atmosphere. It would be crowded with young wizards getting their wands, many of them oblivious to the horrors of the previous year. They would be smiling and joyful, so unlike the children in the years before them.

 

To make it worse, everyone in Diagon Alley would know him, if not by his hair then by Harry. They would automatically flock to Harry, and then to him, asking him questions that he can't even comprehend the answer to. He's aware, though he hasn't seen much of the papers, that people are angry about his verdict. His freedom. He would rather not run into someone who wanted him to pay for the crimes of another.

 

So not today. But maybe tomorrow.

 

**

 

He doesn't write to his mother or his father, no matter how much he wants to. He just can't find the words. They had gone through a time with no contact whilst he had been with them and managed, they could live knowing that he was safe. If he could survive that then they could survive his silence for a little while longer.

 

  
**

 

He writes to Pansy and Blaise, and a shorter letter to Goyle. Pansy sends back a letter almost immediately, informing him of a beautiful tabby cat she had adopted the previous day. She doesn't say outright that she wants him to visit, yet he is good at reading between the lines. Blaise sends him a letter which is full of questions about his wellbeing, and Draco is certain he has repeated the phrase 'I was so worried' at least four times. The letter Goyle sends back is short and to the point, and Draco expected nothing else.

 

He writes a return letter to Pansy after he finishes reading the last sentence of hers, writing about the little things that they had talked about before. He wasn't ready to discuss the big, important things with her, not quite yet. He mentioned Harry in passing, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. Thoughts were fine, he knew how to handle them, but he had never been terribly good with feelings.

 

Especially as this feeling is like nothing he has ever experienced before. It's not even the grand things Harry has done for him that he notices most, they're easy to anyone to notice, it's the smaller things that would go unnoticed by most. The way he doesn't ask Draco to leave even though he would certainly have the right to, the way he hides the paper when there's a horrible article about him, the way he is always so ready to help him, even after everything Draco did to him in school.

 

At first he hadn't even been sure of what it was, too scared of everything to wonder. But now, now that the logical side of him had gained more control and he knew he was safe, he allowed himself to wonder.

 

He wondered about everything except the physical aspect of it. He knew that sex wasn't supposed to hurt, not like it had been for him. They had made it all pain, the only pleasure given was to further his humiliation. He knew that.

 

But he didn't think he would be able to ever do sex. At least not for a long time, when the memories of the touches weren't so fresh. Sometime in the future, he could only hope.

 

**

 

The problem with the dark is that it consumes and covers everything in sight, leaving only slivers of light and shadows that could be cast from anything. He remembers wanting the dark to last forever, and isn't sure how he wanted it to. He was never fond of the dark before, and even weeks after it's terrifying.

 

Draco pulls the covers around him and huddles into his small blanket nest, feeling stupidly vulnerable. His hand hovers close to his mouth, and just for a second he slips the tip of his thumb inside. It is comforting for the second before he spits it out in disgust, vowing to never do it again. He was well over that now. He didn't need that kind of comfort, not ever.

 

He refuses to give in to the urge to comfort himself, and buries underneath his blankets, keeping his hands curled around each other, far away from his mouth.

 

**

 

Harry is smiling when he passes Draco his wand. The wand feels . . . odd. It feels much different to his old wand, of course it does, but not in the way he expected. It fits his hand almost perfectly, despite it being someone else's wand. He felt warmth uncurl inside his chest and knew that Harry's was a perfect match for his magic, no matter how traumatized.

 

 _Wingardium Leviosa_ , is the spell he whispers. Nothing happens, and the warm feeling begins to subside. He frowns. He whispers the spell again, and nothing changes.

 

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " On the third time the feather in front of him floats into the air above him. Draco meets Harry's eyes, and they share a grin.

 

He is whole again.

 

**

 

Of course, not everything was perfect. Life doesn't work out that way. There were days were he couldn't speak without tripping over the simplest of words. There were days when the weight of his trauma physically pinned him to his bed, unable to move until the episode had passed. There were times when he couldn't look Harry in the eye, when he couldn't bare the gentlest touches.

 

But those days were getting fewer, with more time in between. He was coming back to himself, bit by bit, piece by piece.

 

**

 

Harry marvelled at how, after everything, Draco has the strength to look him in the face when he speaks.

 

"You can t-tell me to. Fuck. Off. I-If you want. . ." Draco says, face red as he stumbles over his words.

 

"Pansy said that I-I should t-talk. You. A-About." Draco rubs the palms of his hands over his eyes, groaning quietly.

 

"I-I like b-blokes." Draco blurts out. Harry blinks, the words taking a minute to register.

 

"Oh," Harry said at large. "That's, uh, I mean, so do I."

 

". . . Y-You do?"

 

"Yeah. Took me ages to realise." Harry huffs out a laugh. "I used to like Cedric, before he, you know. . . And I had crushes on girls too, but not for a while. I mainly liked boys, though."

 

And that's that.

 

**

 

Only it's not.

   
They don't talk about it at first, but then they start and can't stop. Every moment of hormonal teenage attraction coming to an end, rebirthing a new, healthier, kinder relationship between the two of them. The attraction is pure and turns to love, and neither could be happier.

 

Nothing is without problems. Draco still wakes screaming, and Harry still clutches his scar in his sleep, Tom Riddle still whispering in his dreams. And when they do, they have each other.

 

Harry never brings up sex, and Draco is glad to simply let the subject go until he is ready. They can do kissing, quick pecks and long, passionate snogging. But it never goes further until Draco wants it to.

 

His body is his own.

 

**

 

Draco laces his fingers with Harry's as they lay in Harry's bed, soft morning light streaming through the curtains. He runs his hands through Harry's wild hair, smiling as Harry tugs him closer in his sleep. Draco grabbed his wand off of the bedside table and cast a quick warming charm before sliding back under the covers.

 

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that.
> 
> I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who read this fic, to everyone who left a comment or kudos. You're the best!The original plan for this fic was a lot different, and I might write that version of it someday (it was even darker than this version, if you can believe). I planned the last chapter differently, and planned to have Hermione and Ron be a larger part of this fic (and Narcissa), but it just didn't turn out like that. There was also an epilogue, more from Harry's point of few, and a scene with Goyle. But like I said, it just wouldn't of fit.
> 
> The Draco/Harry aspect of this fic was not the main part of this fic. The main part was Draco being taken apart and dehumanized, and him recovering from that, though I did try to incorporate as much Drarry as I could. 
> 
>  
> 
> The only thing that will change within this fic is the multiple spelling errors, and a few small sentences I want to change. This fic is completely finished in terms of plot.
> 
> I left the ending kind of ambiguous, so you can decide whether the wand Draco uses in the last scene is his or Harry's, or if he ever does rekindle with his parents.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
